


Friction

by Mirime



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Additional Warnings Apply, Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comment Fic, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-10-02
Packaged: 2017-11-10 22:31:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/471409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mirime/pseuds/Mirime
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sandor Clegane brought Sansa Stark to her family at Riverrun, Catelyn Stark was overjoyed to have her daughter back. That was before she noticed how close the two were.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. CATELYN I

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt by maroucya in sansa_sandor comment fic meme at livejournal: _Sansa has fled KL with Sandor at the Black Water Battle and he has successfully brought her back to her mother at Riverrun. Robb and Catelyn have reluctantly accepted to take him into their service (there is no love at all between them and Sandor), but what they both don’t know is that Sansa and Sandor are lovers and have secret meeting any time they can all around the castle to do their thing._  
>  I am posting it to several sites as is my custom. Enjoy.  
>  **Additional Warning:** This story will contain an intimate relationship between an adult man and twelve years old girl. The inclusion of such is not meant as an endorsement of such a relationship in real life.

CATELYN

The rain wasn't stopping. _The heavens are weeping for me,_ Catelyn thought as she stood by the balcony door and stared out into the Riverlands. It had been over a week since Edmure's return and the news that Highgarden had joined up with the Lannisters. It had been a harsh blow to her hopes but she did her best to keep her spirits up. Her brother had more or less ignored her and Catelyn was finding it hard not to begrudge him for that. Their father was asleep for most of the time nowadays but Edmure should have at least looked in on him.

"My lady?" Maester Vyman knocked at the door and then entered. "Your brother requires your presence in the courtyard."

Catelyn turned from the bleak view of rain-swept rivers, puzzled at this request.

"Did he say why?"

"There is a man who's demanding to speak with you."

Catelyn took her heavy cloak and wrapped it around herself, following the Maester down the stairs after making sure her father was still asleep. She wondered who this strange man asking about her could be. A messenger from Robb? Or from Lysa? No, there wouldn't have been time for that even if Lysa had received her letter already and raven would have been faster in both cases, despite the weather.

They emerged into the courtyard to see a strange sight. A tall man in a dirty cloak sat astride a large warhorse, his uncovered head beaten with rain which plastered his dark hair against his skull. A group of men-at-arms encircled him, pointing their spears at him but they kept their distance, probably weary of the large greatsword the man had close at hand. Edmure was talking to the man, his back to Catelyn so the unknown man spotted her first. He turned his head to look at her fully and once she saw his face, Catelyn understood the men's unease. Half of his face was burned off and it was a familiar face. She had seen him once before when he had come north in King Robert's retinue. The fearsome Lannister Hound, Sandor Clegane.

Catelyn stopped where she stood, frozen and uncertain. She could now see that his dirty cloak might have been white at some point or another. The white of the Kingsguard, the Lannister dog in Riverrun, her brother asking for her presence. It didn't make sense, unless...

"Lady Stark," the Hound rumbled. "I believe I have something of yours. Isn't that right, girl?" the last words were adressed to someone else and Catelyn noticed the slight form huddled and half-hidden behind the man's broad back for the first time. Someone wearing a hooded cloak drenched with rain. Someone who was sliding from the horse's back and running across the courtyard to her. Someone who threw their arms around her and cried out "Mother!" in a voice that was slightly deeper than Catelyn had remembered it. And then the hood slipped off and the red hair so much like Catelyn's own tumbled around the beautiful tear-stained face and Catelyn Stark embraced her elder daughter, crying herself because her faith had paid off and the Kingslayer had kept his word and sent her daughters back to her. Holding on to Sansa who was already as tall as her, Catelyn started looking around, searching for Arya's face. Not seeing her younger daughter anywhere, a terrible feeling entered her heart. Could it be that Arya had been... No, the gods couldn't be that cruel.

"Where's Arya, Sansa? Where is your sister?"

Sansa raised her head.

"I don't know. I haven't seen her since before father's arrest."

Catelyn felt it like a physical blow. If Arya was missing for so long then that must mean she was dead. Another of her children torn away from her, the only one to look like Ned. Catelyn pulled Sansa back into her arms, grateful for the rain that masked her tears.

"Cat?" Edmure came to her side, hesitantly reaching for her. "We should get out of the rain. It wouldn't do for Sansa or you to fall ill now."

"A splendid idea, Tully. And maybe you could tell these peasants to point those things somewhere else. Half of them don't even have a proper grip on them. If that's the best the Riverlands can offer, no wonder you are still at war."

Catelyn had forgotten about the Hound in the wake of her reunion with Sansa but his rough voice sliced through the grief she felt for her other daughter and she pulled herself together, facing the man who had delivered Sansa to her. Forcing herself to be polite, she offered him a tiny nod of gratitude.

"You have my thanks, ser, for getting my daughter safely to me."

The burned side of his mouth twitched and he looked past her at Sansa.

"So that's where you got your manners from, little bird."

Catelyn frowned at the familiarity with which he addressed Sansa. Little bird? But before she could ask, Sansa touched her arm.

"We have been on a road constantly for ten days, mother. Uncle Edmure is right. We should get inside."

The Hound dismounted as Edmure called his men off and handed off his horse's reins to one of them, ordering him to tend to the animal. Catelyn didn't like his presumptous manner but kept her silence out of consideration. There had already been too many emotional outbursts in front of too many people.

"This way," Edmure gestured and led them all into the main hall, sending the servants for a mulled wine. As they all settled down, Catelyn studied her daughter now that they were out of the rain. She looked older and far more beautiful than Catelyn had imagined. She was almost a woman grown, Catelyn realized. More than a year had passed since Sansa had left Winterfell and that time had changed her little girl into a real lady, familiar with the world and its ways.

"I am surprised you arrived so quickly," Catelyn said when she realized Edmure was waiting for her to speak. "I sent Ser Jaime back only a fortnight past."

Sansa exchanged glances with the Hound and Catelyn once again felt that pang of unease at their obvious familiarity with each other.

"You let the Kingslayer go?" the Hound was the one who spoke up.

"Yes, in exchange for my daughters."

"Mother," Sansa said quietly. "I'm sorry but there has been no exchange. I escaped on the night of the Battle of Blackwater on my own, with Sandor's help."

"Sandor?" Catelyn asked more sharply than she had intended but Sansa met her eyes fearlessly.

"Yes, Sandor. I refuse to call him the Hound when he has done more for me during my captivity than anyone else and kept me safe all the way to Riverrun."

"But that means that he is no longer a Lannister's servant," Edmure spoke up, regarding the scarred man with an increased interest.

"I left the Lannister's service, yes," the Hound confirmed. "Little bird here thought I could serve your family instead, even though I told her she was being delusional."

"And I told you you were wrong," Sansa declared and looked pleadingly at Catelyn. "You'll accept him into our service, won't you?"

Catelyn glanced at the man whose dark reputation was known all over the Seven Kingdoms, the man who looked fearsome and cruel and far too cocky as he sat on the bench next to her daughter who didn't seem bothered by any of those things. As a matter of fact, she seemed to want to remain close to him. For Sansa alone, she would be willing to give the Hound a chance but she was no longer someone who could make such a decision. Not when it seemed that her letting go of the Kingslayer had accomplished nothing at all.

"I am a traitor to your brother, Sansa," Catelyn said at last. "The Kingslayer wasn't mine to release and with you here and your sister's whereabouts unknown, my decision is looking more and more a foolish one. You'll have to wait for Robb's return."

"I see," Sansa nodded. She looked sideways at the Hound and smiled happily. "It appears I was right."

"Hardly," he snorted. "Young Wolf can still decide that my head on a spike would serve him better than my sword."

"I won't let him," Sansa declared. "Being a princess must be good for something, even if only saving one life."

"We'll wait for Robb," Catelyn reiterated. "The decision shall be his."

 _And I'll pray it will be a correct one,_ she added to herself as she watched her daughter, who had changed so much she was practically a stranger to her, smile at the Hound of all people. _I'll pray. It's all I can do._


	2. SANSA I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notices: underage kissing, mentions of physical abuse/character deaths/violence

SANSA

The mulled wine was beginning to work and Sansa enjoyed the warmth that spread throughout her body from the hot drink. It had been steadily raining the last couple of days and she couldn't remember the last time she felt truly warm and dry. She smiled at Sandor, happy that they had managed to reach Riverrun safely. She almost reached over to hold his hand but her mother was still watching and Sansa didn't want to risk it.

"I'll have Sansa put up in your old rooms, Cat," her uncle spoke up. "And the Hound can stay in the barracks."

"Not kennels, Tully? How generous of you," Sandor rasped and Sansa frowned at him. He had promised not to provoke her family much as his presence alone would cause some friction, without him adding fuel to the fire with his rudeness.

"We know how to treat our guests," Edmure bristled and Sansa sighed, deciding to nip this in the bud while she could.

"I would go to my room now, uncle," she told him. "And I'd like to visit the sept after I change into dry clothes."

"I'll go with you," her mother told her. "I want to thank the Seven for bringing you back."

"And we should pray for Bran and Rickon, too," Sansa smiled sadly at her mother, seeing how much the mention of her sons pained her. Almost as much as it pained Sansa herself.

"So you heard about what had happened?"

"Yes, I was told," Sansa didn't elaborate on it. Hearing about her brothers' deaths had hit her harder than when she had had her first moon blood. There was no certainty about Arya's fate and it was easy to convince herself that her wild little sister had run away and been wreaking havoc somewhere. But Bran and Rickon's bodies had been seen, displayed for all as a warning and the fact that it was Theon who had done it, the Theon who had used to smile so much and had been Robb's best friend... it was almost unbearable. But the worst part of it all had been the fact that it had happened in Winterfell. Winterfell was supposed to be safe. It was supposed to be the haven they would all come back to after the fighting was done and over with. Winterfell should have kept them safe.

"Little bird," she heard at the same time as her mother's concerned "Sansa!" and she realized she was crying again. She wiped her eyes irritably, angry with herself for giving into her emotions. Although, she was no longer in King's Landing. She no longer needed to wear a mask to protect herself. She was with her mother and uncle and Sandor. She was with people who cared about her, who didn't wish her to be hurt or in pain.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, shoving her grief away for the time being. "I just miss them."

Her mother was looking at her with a depth of understanding in her eyes and Sansa found comfort in knowing that her mother was there for her. Sandor had been her support through a lot of the things that had happened to her but there were some pains that only a mother could soothe. Sansa stood up.

"Can you have someone draw me a bath, uncle?" she asked and Edmure nodded, sympathetic but clearly uncomfortable with the two women on the verge of tears. Although to be fair, Sandor didn't seem to fare any better, glancing at her to gauge if she was going to break down crying or not. She gave him another smile to show she was going to be alright and then she followed the maid her uncle had summoned up into one of the towers. The rooms she was given were spacious and warmed by the fire someone had already lit. Sansa was grateful for the warmth as she took off the sodden clothes she had ridden in for days and drew a soft blanket around herself while waiting for her bath to be ready.

It felt wonderful to scrub the dirt and sweat from her body and wash her hair properly and she was almost tempted to linger in the bath for a while, if not for how dirty the water had become. So she climbed from the tub and put on a dressing gown that had been made ready for her and sat into a chair in front of the hearth to let her hair dry. A knock on the door announced a maid, followed by her mother.

"I thought we could talk while I brush your hair," Catelyn Stark said and Sansa nodded, overwhelmed by the memories of the happier times with her mother.

"I would like that very much," she said quietly and sat up straighter as her mother dismissed the maid, gathered the still wet strands of her hair and brought the comb to them, working slowly and patiently at the snarls and knots brought on by days of travel with little time to tend to her appearance.

"It has grown so long," Catelyn marveled and Sansa looked straight ahead.

"I haven't had it cut once in all the time I spent there. I couldn't."

"How were you treated, Sansa? Were they kind to you?"

Sansa blinked away her tears that her mother's compassionate voice brought on. She had been too weepy lately. She had cried when she had started bleeding, she had cried when she had heard of her brothers' fate, she had cried when she had met her mother in the courtyard. But she wouldn't cry over this anymore, over what Joffrey had done to her. He wasn't worth her tears.

"They were at first, when father was still alive and the Hand and even after his arrest, the Queen told me sweet words and lies to have me do as she wanted," she started, her voice surprisingly calm. "I wrote that letter to you and I begged for mercy for father and they smiled and promised me they would be kind and merciful and I believed them, not knowing any better. After father's death, though," she choked as she remembered those miserable first days before she had armoured herself in her courtesies. "One of the first things Joffrey did was to show me my father's head on a spike. He wasn't pleased with my reaction, though. And because it's unseemly of a king to hit his lady, he had Ser Meryn do it instead."

"He had a knight hit you?" her mother gasped and stilled the comb halfway down.

"Yes, the knights of the Kingsguard were his to command and when he desired me punished, he had them do it. Ser Meryn, Ser Boros, Ser Mandon, Ser Preston," Sansa named them all, remembering their unfeeling faces and cold gauntlets. "Ser Arys at least protested against the order and he didn't hit me as hard as the others."

"But what about the Queen? Or the council? Did no one speak up for you?" Catelyn sounded appalled by that. Sansa guessed she would have been, too, if she hadn't grown used to such a treatment.

"They ruled the realm. Why concern themselves with what the King was doing to his betrothed? No," Sansa recalled, trying to be just. "Lord Tyrion spoke up for me once and Joffrey treated me better for a while. And the Queen did advise me some when I had my first moon blood, too."

"You have bled, then?"

Sansa wondered if she only imagined the hint of a sorrow in her mother's voice.

"Yes, more than a fortnight past."

"You left me a girl and came back a woman," Catelyn spoke and Sansa knew then that the sadness in her voice was real. "I'm sorry, my child."

"Sorry?" Sansa turned around and looked up at her mother. "What for?"

"You shouldn't have suffered so, alone and unprotected."

"I wasn't entirely alone. Nor unprotected," she turned back quickly so her mother wouldn't notice her blush and wonder on it. "Sandor helped me a lot."

"The Hound," Catelyn spoke with a faint distaste.

"I know his reputation, mother, trust me, I do. I used to be so scared of him I could scarcely look him in the face. But then..." Sansa paused, searching for the right words to convince her mother without giving away too much. "He was raised to the Kingsguard, you know. And of all of the six of them, he was the only one who never once hit me."

"He didn't?" her mother's voice was filled with disbelief. Sansa shook her head.

"He is rude and discourteous and too blunt at times but he told me how to appease Joffrey, he lied to him for my sake, he wiped away my blood when Ser Meryn hit me too hard. He showed me more kindness than anyone else in the King's Landing and he risked his life to deliver me safely to you."

"Why would he do such things for you?"

"'There are some things even a dog cannot stomach'," Sansa quoted. "That's what he told me when I asked him the same thing."

He had said more to her but those were not things she could share with her mother, not if she wanted him to stay close to her. If anyone in Riverrun had even an inkling of the true state of things between her and Sandor, they would be parted immediately. And that was something Sansa couldn't bear.

"So the Hound does have a conscience," Catelyn mused.

"He saved my life," Sansa pointed out quietly. "Not just by taking me away. Before that. There was a riot in the city and the mob tried to pull me from my horse and do gods know what kind of things to me. He cut his way through and protected me after my assigned guard left me behind. For that alone he deserves some thanks."

"Sansa," her mother sighed. "I am grateful to him for bringing you to us. But please, try and understand that the man you speak so highly about is considered a monster by almost everyone else."

"Then maybe it's about time for that opinion to change," Sansa could hear the frost in her voice but didn't care. "I am going to ask Robb to take Sandor into his service as my sworn shield."

"Sansa!"

"He is the only man I trust to keep me safe," she stated simply.

"You are safe in Riverrun," Catelyn told her. Sansa shook her head.

"I thought the same of King's Landing, before everything. And the fighting is far from over. What if the castle is besieged? Or we have to travel somewhere and are set upon by the outlaws? Wouldn't you feel better knowing that one of the most dangerous men in Westeros is guarding me? And is willing to lay down his life to protect me?"

Catelyn actually smiled at that and Sansa realized she must have sounded as the little girl she had used to be, the girl who had dreamed of having a strong and fierce protector of her own, like the maidens of the songs.

"You really see him as your champion, don't you?"

"Why shouldn't I, after all he has done for me?" she returned and heard Catelyn sigh.

"Very well, I won't interfere when you plead with Robb. And if you induce him to accept Sandor Clegane as your sworn shield then so be it."

"Thank you, mother," Sansa said genuinely and Catelyn leaned over to kiss her forehead.

"I only want what's best for you, Sansa, you know that."

Finding her mother's hand on her shoulder, Sansa gave it a squeeze and looked straight ahead as she let her mother finish combing her hair and plaiting it. One of the maids had laid out a dark blue gown with red embroidery on its bodice and sleeves and Sansa slipped into it, admiring the way it fit her as the back was laced for her.

"It used to be mine when I was fifteen, I think," Catelyn spoke to her, fussing with the revealing cut of the bodice. "You are already as tall as me at that age. And filling up nicely, too," she added, looking Sansa over. "I hope there has been nothing improper between you and the Ho- Clegane, while on the road."

"Improper?" Sansa asked, hoping her blush would be attributed to an embarrassment and not guilt.

"I have to ask, Sansa. You seem strangely fond of him and he's a grown and experienced man. It would be easy for him to persuade you to do things you shouldn't be doing."

Sansa didn't want to lie to her mother. But how could she tell her that Sandor hadn't had to persuade her at all? That she had been more than willing to do some highly improper things with him and to him.

"I'm still a maiden, if that's what you are asking," she started, noticing how her mother's anxiety lessened. "And Sandor never touched me beyond what was required by necessity, be it lifting me on the horse or letting me sleep next to him so I wouldn't be cold at night," or when the kisses were no longer enough and she needed to be touched by him to ease her ache. That counted as a necessity, didn't it?

"All is well, then."

"Yes, all is well," Sansa echoed and took a step forward to look herself over in a looking glass. The blue of the gown flattered her complexion and the red threads on the embroidery matched her hair. Tully colours on a Stark. She turned to her mother. "Shall we go?"

They lit a candle for each of the Seven in turn, even Stranger and Sansa couldn't help but think of Sandor's blasphemously named horse and whispered a quick apology to the God of Death even if Sandor himself wasn't bothered by her pointing out that he should be more careful about provoking the gods.

Her mother left her after they were done, explaining about her detainment in Lord Hoster's rooms and Sansa promised to call on her grandfather soon. She went looking for Sandor after that, anxious to make sure he had been treated well. She didn't expect to find him talking to her uncle and his friends in the hall. He, too, had changed into dry clothes and looked quite comfortable amongst the Riverlands' lords. The same could not be said about the lords themselves. They seemed to regard Sandor with a mix of wariness and curiousity as they asked him questions about Lannister forces and their movements. She could see Sandor was getting exasperated with them, as well.

"No, I don't bloody know what Tywin Lannister is going to do, Mallister," he told a brown-haired man who sat next to her uncle and whom Sansa dimly recalled from the Hand's tourney. "Why don't you go and ask him yourself?"

Before the man could reply, Sansa stepped forward and gave a small cough. As one, the men turned to her and then jumped to their feet, offering bows of varying quality.

"My lords," Sansa curtseyed and gave them a smile. "I'm sorry to interrupt but I would like a word with my sworn shield."

Edmure Tully realized what she had meant first and glanced at Sandor curiously.

"Your sworn shield?" he repeated.

"Yes, uncle," Sansa folded her hands demurely in front of her, her posture that of a perfect lady. "My sworn shield."

She didn't offer any other explanation, merely waited to be obeyed. She had observed how the Queen had behaved back when she had still idolized the Lannister woman. Expect the obedience and you will receive it. Treat your orders as foregone conclusions and they will be carried out all the more swiftly. And so it happened with her uncle's men, as well. They might have looked back and forth between her and Sandor at first but as she kept her polite veneer intact and Sandor's face didn't give anything away, either, they soon lost their interest.

"Walk with me," she ordered and he stepped next to her and let her take his arm. There was a snigger from the group and Sansa thought she had heard something about trained dogs but when she glanced back, the men had gone back to their drinking. Sandor's arm was tense under her hand, though and so she knew she had heard correctly. "Not now," she whispered and led him out of the hall, loudly asking about how he liked Riverrun.

Once they were in the corridor, Sansa quickly looked around and pulled Sandor with her towards a small room off the hall that was meant to store linens, thankful that her education required her to know her way around a castle, no matter how big or small it was. Once the door was safely shut behind them, she threw her arms around Sandor's neck and pulled his head down to kiss him properly.

"Quite eager, little bird, aren't you?" he murmured against her lips.

"I worried about you," she confessed as she pressed her lips against his one last time and hugged him tightly. "What if Uncle Edmure decided to throw you into a dungeon?"

"Then you would bat your eyes at him and plead prettily and he would let me go," Sandor replied. "Your uncle's a pushover. Put enough pressure on him and he'll break."

"That's unjust. He's a good man."

"That might be so but good men don't live long in this world."

"You are a good man, too and you are still alive," Sansa told him and Sandor snorted in contempt.

"You still believe me good?"

"Always," she said with conviction and Sandor sighed, whether at her naivety or something else Sansa didn't know.

"I heard some news in the barracks," he told her, clearly abandoning the previous subject. "Stannis was defeated at King's Landing by Tywin Lannister's and Mace Tyrell's joined forces."

"So Joffrey still rules," Sansa surmised and pressed herself closer to him. "I'm glad we escaped that night. Is that why my uncle and his friends were talking to you?" she looked up at his face to see him grimace in exasperation.

"They thought that as a high-ranking Lannister man I was privy to Lord Tywin's secret plans. Idiots. I haven't seen the old lion in years, ever since I was permanently assigned to Joffrey."

"What happens now?"

"Now, little bird, you scamper off to your mother and pretend to be the perfect little daughter that she thinks you are."

"And you?"

"I guess I'll prepare to be fucking bored while standing guard over you. Being your buggering sworn shield and all."

"You know that was the only way to keep you close to me," Sansa pointed out. Sandor kissed her again before he let go of her and opened the door, checking to make sure no one was around.

"I know, little bird, don't worry about that. Now come, your mother must be already waiting."


	3. CATELYN II

CATELYN

Catelyn thought it might have been half an hour at most when Sansa arrived to Lord Hoster's solar after their parting in the sept. Lord Hoster was asleep, the milk of the poppy working too well of late. Sansa knelt at her grandfather's side, taking his hand and stroking it gently.

"I never really knew him," she said and Catelyn heard the unvoiced regret in her voice. "And now I never will."

She leaned over to kiss his forehead and then joined Catelyn at the balcony. The rain was still falling and the whole country was covered in dismal grey. Catelyn watched as Sansa stared unseeing into the distance and wondered what her daughter was thinking about. Catelyn knew where her own thoughts took her frequently. To the north and her dead boys, to the west and her brave son and until today, to the south and her missing daughters. Now, one of those daughters was standing at her side, all grown up and almost a stranger and the other was most likely just as lost as her younger brothers.

"How long is it going to be until Robb comes back?" Sansa kept looking straight ahead when she asked the question, as if trying to spot her brother through the miles separating them.

"I don't know," Catelyn admitted. "I have been kept in the dark about many things since I let the Kingslayer go."

"Why would you do that?" there was only an honest curiousity in her daughter's voice and no judgment.

"I was desperate and grieving," Catelyn said slowly. "I had just learned of Bran and Rickon's deaths and all I could think about was that two of my other children were in danger as well. Letting Kingslayer go free seemed a small enough price to get you and Arya back."

"I'm sorry it didn't work."

"You have truly no idea what had happened to your sister?"

Sansa shook her head.

"We were getting ready to go to Winterfell. Arya was off having her last dancing lesson when the soldiers came and the killing started."

"Arya was taking dancing lessons?" Catelyn asked, surprised at this information. It had always been a struggle to get Arya practicing anything even remotely ladylike, be it needlework, singing or, indeed, dancing.

"And she was very persistent about it, too," Sansa smiled wistfully. "I keep hoping she managed to escape. Sandor said that the Queen was quite angry with her men for not finding her so she got out of the Red Keep at the very least."

"But where is she now?"

"I wish I knew."

Both of them fell silent after that. Catelyn had a feeling Sansa wanted to tell her something but couldn't find the words. Instead of prying, though, she decided to wait until her daughter could confide in her. It had most likely to do with Sansa's stay in King's Landing and even the few facts Sansa had already told her made her wary of what else had befallen her gentle girl in that terrible place.

There was a knock on the door and the Riverrun's steward Utherydes Wayn ushered in a couple of serving girls bearing two trays of food. Catelyn didn't realize it was already time for dinner. A dinner with her daughter, obviously, as Sansa took a place at the table and waited for her to join her.

"The cook told me you took all your meals here. I didn't realize your detainment was to such an extent," Sansa said. "Maybe I could get Uncle Edmure to lift it. Even though there was no direct exchange, the gods might have helped my escape when you freed Ser Jaime."

Catelyn smiled at that line of thinking. She very much doubted it would sway Edmure. He was most likely glad that she wasn't hovering over his shoulder and trying to counsel him. With their father fading away so quickly, Edmure was getting ready to take over as the next Lord of Riverrun and the last thing he needed was his older sister still thinking he needed direction as when he was but a boy. Which to her he still was.

"That won't be necessary. I'm grateful I can spend my father's last days with him and the solitude gives me time to think and grieve," Catelyn looked searchingly at Sansa who seemed very focused on her meal. "Why don't you tell me more about how you managed to leave King's Landing?"

For a moment, Sansa looked almost frightened before she put down her spoon and wiped her mouth with a napkin, looking directly at Catelyn.

"The city was under Stannis' siege. His fleet was to attack that night. Lord Tyrion had devised a plan and most of the able-bodied men were stationed on the battlements and by the gates, to fend off any attack by the infantry. I was with the Queen and the rest of the noblewomen in Maegor's Holdfast, in the Queen's Ballroom. We were to wine and dine while the men outside would be dying to keep us safe," Sansa looked down at her lap. "I hoped at first that Stannis would win, thinking his victory would mean my freedom."

Catelyn recalled Stannis' words to her, about sending her daughters to her after he took the capital. She didn't blame Sansa for thinking the man her hope for escape but she remembered the shadow slicing Renly's throat and the red woman's cold smile and she was glad Stannis hadn't managed to take the city after all. If she would still think so if Sansa was not sitting across her right now, she couldn't say.

"The Queen made it clear that wouldn't happen," her daughter continued. "Ser Ilyn was in the ballroom with us. The Queen told me at first it was for our protection but as she drank more wine, she told me the truth. If the city should fall, if Stannis should win, Ser Ilyn would kill the Queen and me, too. We wouldn't be taken alive, she claimed."

Catelyn thought she should be more surprised but the Lannister Queen had always been a cold woman. Cold and proud. Better to die than to be taken, that was the way the lioness would think.

"How did you get out of the city, then?"

"Lord Tyrion destroyed Stannis's fleet with wildfire. The whole Blackwater Bay was burning green and the sky itself seemed to be on fire. It was both terrifying and beautiful. Some of Stannis' men still managed to cross the river and there was fighting at the gates. For a while, it seemed as if Stannis would win. When the Queen heard, she left the ballroom. I had to calm down the scared ladies before I could leave myself. I went to my room, thinking to barricade myself in. If the city was sacked, I should have at least some protection. But it wasn't necessary. Sandor was already waiting for me."

Catelyn wondered if Sansa was aware of how her tone softened when talking about the man who had brought her to Riverrun. The Hound was an ugly man, so completely unlike the storybook knights Sansa had admired when younger. The depth of feeling Sansa displayed at his account was disconcerting. Catelyn worried that due to her bad experiences in King's Landing, Sansa latched onto the person who had saved her and made him up in her mind to be much better than he was in reality. Gratitude was one thing, admiration quite another.

Nothing improper had happened, Sansa had told her. Would her daughter lie to her or would her view of impropriety differ when it came to her saviour? Or had she been actually telling the truth? It was suddenly even more important to find out what all had passed between those two during their journey north.

"He saw that the city would fall soon, unless some miracle came to pass. He knew that I wanted more than anything to go home and the chaos in the city would actually help us. He said he could take me home and keep me safe and I believed him."

"Why would you trust him?" Catelyn was really curious about Sansa's answer to this question.

"By then, I knew he sympathized with my situation," Sansa tugged at a stray lock of hair, not looking at Catelyn at all, apparently lost in her memories. "He had showed me kindness when everyone else had turned away. And... I just knew he would keep his word. He never lies, it's not in his nature."

Gratitude, admiration, trust. Catelyn didn't like the way Sansa was viewing the Hound. She was really building him up as a hero, her own personal Florian, lowborn and homely but always there to protect his Jonquil, to shield her from the evils of the world.

"So he took you away from the city. What happened after?"

"We went out through the Gate of Gods. The main fighting was by the Mud Gate and the few guards left at the other gates were too afraid of Sandor to try and stop him. He took us off the Kingsroad almost immediately, to throw off any pursuers. Sandor's horse is very fast and strong and he carried us both easily. We rode through the night until we reached Gold Road several miles west of the city. We kept to it for a while until Stranger started to tire."

"Stranger?" Catelyn hoped she had heard wrong but Sansa's uncomfortable posture spoke for everything.

"I told him that it was a blasphemous name but Sandor just laughed. He said riding Stranger to the battle was what kept him alive for so long."

Catelyn closed her eyes briefly, uttering a short prayer for forgiveness. The man was terrible. At least Sansa was not so taken with him as to ignore such an audacity.

"We had to camp in the woods. He gave me his cloak to keep me warm while he kept watch so I could sleep at least a little. We had agreed it would be best to strike out for Riverrun directly. Sandor bought us supplies at a village we passed and then we left the main roads and headed north-west. It took us ten days to reach Riverrun and Sandor said we were very lucky for making it in such a short time."

Catelyn had to agree with the Hound's words. Riverrun was almost seven hundred miles from King's Landing in a straight line. The Hound's horse, blasphemous name or not, must have been worth its weight in gold for making the journey and if they hadn't encountered any outlaws, the luck had been indeed with them.

"Where is Clegane now?" Catelyn asked, respecting Sansa's wishes not to refer to the man as the Hound outloud.

"Standing the guard," Sansa replied matter-of-factly, nodding towards the door.

"Call him in and then leave us," Catelyn ordered, dismayed by Sansa taking such liberties but not in any position to call her out on that. Sansa didn't look very happy about it but obeyed and Catelyn straightened out in her seat. The Hound entered the solar and gave a perfunctory bow of a man used to dealing with the nobility but confident of his own standing amongst them. Then again, he had been the trusted sworn shield to the crown prince and had lived at the royal court of the Seven Kingdoms for years.

"Lady Stark," he greeted. He had a very deep voice, rough and almost unpleasant to listen to.

"I have several things I wish to ask you, Clegane," Catelyn started, determining that a direct approach would work best with this man. "I heard Sansa's account of your time together and now I'd like to hear yours."

"You do not trust your precious little princess?" he asked, the burned side of his mouth twitching.

"This isn't about the trust. Sansa is twelve. She sees things differently than me. Or you," she added.

"What is it you want to know, Lady Stark?"

"Has there been anything improper between the two of you?"

"Depends on what you call improper," the man had the gall to reply and Catelyn took a deep breath.

"Have you touched her?" she asked, watching him closely. He shrugged easily.

"Many times. She's big on manners, I had to take her arm when escorting her around the Keep or she would throw a fit."

He was deliberately misunderstanding her meaning. Catelyn clenched her fists. He was infuriating and she wondered how Sansa could hold him in such high regard.

"I'm not playing a game with you, Clegane," Catelyn snapped. "You know very well what I want to know."

"You're asking me if I fucked your daughter."

Catelyn winced at the crudeness of the statement.

"Yes," she said tersely. And he laughed, a rasping sound that gritted against her ears.

"No, Lady Stark, I didn't, you can stop worrying about that."

 _He never lies, it's not in his nature._ Catelyn was quite skilled at recognizing a direct lie, she had born and raised five children, after all. Both he and Sansa had denied a coupling and as far as Catelyn could say, they were telling the truth. Good, at least that was one worry off her mind. Still, the matter remained of their strange connection but maybe that could wait for another day. Except for one thing.

"Why would you call her a little bird earlier?"

There was that twitch again and Catelyn was starting to hate it. It drew attention to his scars and they were extremely unpleasant to look at. Yet Sansa had had no trouble looking at him, scars and all but realizing that didn't improve Catelyn's mood at all. Quite the opposite. Clegane was also looking like he might not answer her but then he sighed and spoke up.

"Because she reminded me of one at first. She was so bloody polite and courteous, saying all the pretty words taught to her by some septa. It was very annoying but I guess I got used to it. And I kept calling her that ever since," he shrugged. "She doesn't seem to mind."

No, Sansa didn't mind. And maybe it was harmless, just a nickname bestowed upon her by a man famously lacking respect for his betters. Still, Catelyn didn't like it much.

"If Sansa gets her way and you become her sworn shield, you must observe more courtesies in regards to her," she told him, half-resigned to that happening. Because Robb had balked at exchanging his sisters for the Kingslayer and his guilt over that would lead to him agreeing to any wish of Sansa's to make up for it.

"Don't worry about that, my lady," he rasped and Catelyn felt like he was mocking her. "I am well trained."

That was about as much cheek as Catelyn was willing to take from him.

"Very well, ser," she told him coldly. "You may go back to your duties."

He looked at her darkly all of a sudden and for the first time during the interview, Catelyn felt afraid of him.

"I'm not a knight, so don't call me ser," he rasped in that grating voice of his, made even harsher by his anger. "That's one thing I won't stand. Call me a dog, if you want but not a ser. Not that."

Catelyn was taken aback by his vehemence but she gathered herself quickly. There was a story behind that anger, one she would most likely never know. Sansa might, considering her connection with the man but Catelyn would never pry into a matter like that. She also wouldn't stand for the man to try and threaten her, unintentionally or not.

"I understand, Clegane. And you should never again take that tone with me if you actually want to stay in our service. Do I make myself clear?"

"Perfectly, my lady."

He did a military precise turn about and walked out, pausing only to let Sansa back in. Catelyn wished she would have imagined the fleeting touch of Sansa's hand on his arm but she knew what she had seen. And while the talk had alleviated her main fear, several new ones had arisen. Looking at Sansa's worried face, she attempted a smile for her sake. She had her daughter back. She should be grateful for that much. No matter how much it felt like she was losing her to someone else.


	4. SANSA II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notices: underage

SANSA

Sansa had taken to spending her mornings with her mother in Lord Hoster's rooms. Her grandfather had woken up several times but only once had he recognized her for who she was. Other times, he had mistaken her for one of his daughters, most often Lysa, whom he had begged for forgiveness. The first time it had happened, Sansa had looked to her mother for guidance, only to see her looking away with a painful expression on her face. Later that day, Catelyn had told her about her suspicion of what had transpired all those years ago. Sansa felt a burst of sympathy for her poor aunt, realizing for the first time that a similar situation may easily come to pass for her as well.

She was the Princess in the North, a sister to the King and as such, she would be very sought after. She had thought when she had been younger that she would be able to cope with an arranged marriage like that and had been actually overjoyed when her father and the late King Robert had made her match with Joffrey. She had been stripped of her illusions later on and the thought of going through with another such experience was near unbearable. She consoled herself that even though she was already a woman grown - her flowering had marked her as such - her official coming of age was still years away.  
To get her mind off those things, she sought to occupy herself through other means.

Having taken nothing with her but literally the clothes on her back from the King's Landing meant that she needed a new wardrobe made up for her, her mother's old things not fitting her as well as they should. She had also commissioned several outfits for Sandor, reasoning with her mother that if he was to act as her sworn shield - the fact which had by now been widely accepted by everyone - he should look the part. Sandor himself had only told her not to dole him up too much as he was no "fucking doll to play dress up with".

Sansa's worries that he would manage to alienate everyone with his brusque and rude behaviour proved unfounded after all. After the first couple of days, when it became apparent that the Hound had really come over to their side, the soldiers and lords alike started to accept him more. He spent some of his free evenings drinking with the common soldiers - something Sansa frowned at but as he didn't overdo his drinking the way he had had in King's Landing, she didn't protest much - and some in the counsel with her uncle and his group of friends. Sansa was startled to realize that he had known a good number of them already, either from when Robert had travelled the realm in the past or from various tourneys in which they all had participated. He wasn't liked by them, no, but he had their grudging respect which was more than Sansa had expected.

"The talk is your brother's gotten married," he told her one evening as they stood on the top of one of the towers, hidden from the sight of the guards by a protruding corner. Sansa was leaning her back against him, his white cloak with a grey direwolf sigil - her gift to him to acknowledge their shared past and to distinguish him from the rest of the Stark forces - enveloping them both as he held her in a loose embrace.

"But how? He has been in the Westerlands these past few months," Sansa twisted around to better look at him in the fading daylight. She had of course been told of Robb's betrothal to one of Walder Frey's daughters and wondered what her new sister would be like. "I thought he wanted to wait until the war was over."

Sandor snorted, the burned side of his face pulling tight as he smirked in contempt.

"Why do you think there are no Freys to be seen around? He married someone else. A Westerling of the Crag, they say. Freys took that as a slap in the face and left. The boy ordered that your lady mother is not to be told. He's going to tell her himself, he said, since it concerns that precious Stark honour of his."

"Why would Robb break his word?" Sansa wondered. Robb had always wanted to be like their father. His honour meant almost everything to him. Sandor looked down at her and tipped her chin up until their eyes met.

"Because, little bird, sometimes a pretty face and a warm body's enough to make any man forget himself."

Sansa's breath caught in her throat and she leant forward unconsciously. She didn't think he was talking about Robb anymore.

"Do I make you forget yourself?" she asked daringly, her eyes steady on his face.

"No," he told her and Sansa felt a sharp stab of disappointment. She looked away from him, watching over the battlements as the Red Fork flew eastward. She heard him sigh.

"Little bird," he said but she refused to look at him again. He turned her face around gently as he had always been with her, his hand warm on her cheek. "You are being foolish."

"I do not think so," Sansa sniffed, stubbornly refusing to look at him again. "I do not even know why you would kiss me since you clearly do not want me. But you do not have to pretend for my sake, I can-"

The kiss he gave her was unlike any they had shared before. It was like being burned alive, each part of her body and soul falling apart only to come back together at the point where their mouths met. Sansa could feel his hands on her body as they pulled her closer until she was pressed against him so tightly she doubted any space remained between them. Her back was against the wall she thought but there might have been nothing there at all and she wouldn't have known for all the notice she gave to her surroundings, his presence encompassing her completely. As tall as she was, Sandor still dwarfed her, his height, his wide shoulders, his big hands that touched her so confidently, she was aware of him with every part of her being.

When he pulled away, Sansa tried to follow but he held her back and she realized that, yes, he had turned them around and pressed her against the wall. And not only that, her own arms were tightly wound around his neck, her fingers fisted in his hair and she could feel the wetness in her smallclothes that she had only become familiar with recently. Sansa blushed furiously. She had thought that one time in the woods on their way to Riverrun she had reacted too wantonly but it had been nothing compared to what had just transpired between them.

"Sandor?" she asked timidly, unsure of what his reaction might be after this.

"If I were to forget myself with you," he told her in a voice much rougher than usual, "I wouldn't be able to stop at only kissing you. It's already damn hard to not take you, you stupid girl, with how you are constantly offering yourself to me."

"I am not offering myself to you," Sansa told him, insulted. Whores offered themselves. She was giving him her affection. Those were two completely different things. She loved him, that was why she let him take all those liberties with her, the kisses and the touching and the embraces. He hadn't liked it when she had tried to tell him once how she had felt so she had decided to show him in another way.

"Sure you aren't," he snorted, clearly not believing her. "But it doesn't matter. What matters is that for once in my fucking life I am trying to do right by someone which is more than I have ever done for anyone else. You made me change my loyalties, fuck, there are times when I forget about my brother when I am with you. And then you claim that I do not want you? No matter how grown up you look, it's as if deep down you are still that empty-headed little girl you were before."

"Oh," Sansa was very touched by his words but also angry. He had just admitted that she was someone who meant more to him than anyone else. On the other hand, he apparently still thought she was a stupid little girl. But then, why would he care for her so much if she annoyed him so? She didn't understand his reasoning but pushing him for an explanation wouldn't do any good, she knew that much. Although, thinking about it more, she cared for him, too, even if he annoyed her sometimes. It was the same thing at its core.

"I am sorry," she told him sincerely, reaching up to cup his scarred cheek. She had noticed before that he liked that. "I just thought that it was only me who couldn't focus on anything else when together and I could not bear that."

"You are spoiled," he said to her. "A spoiled little princess who's used to getting everything she wants."

"I am not!" Sansa tried to protest but he shushed her, an amused look appearing in his eyes.

"I'm really looking forward to how you handle your brother. He might have the crown but you have the attitude. Seven hells, the boy won't know what hit him," Sandor laughed. "He must already be nervous about facing his mother and now you will put your foot down about keeping the dog that has followed you home."

Sansa didn't like the way he talked about himself sometimes. For all his claims that dogs were much better creatures than knights, she still thought it wrong of him to demean himself like that.

"Do not talk like that, please," she asked him, the same conversation having happened between them before. He obeyed but his last words got stuck in her head. Robb would arrive any day now, his new wife with him. How would Sansa face the woman who made her brother forsake his oaths? And, although she disliked herself for thinking that way, could she maybe use the guilt that Robb had to feel to make sure he approves of Sandor's appointment as her sworn shield? After all, the scandal of having a former Lannister man as a guard was much less than breaking a royal promise.

She kept thinking about that over the course of the next few days, even if it was hard to keep the news from her mother. She felt guilty for that, even more so that she had yet to admit it had been her who had told the Queen about her father's plans. There were times when Sansa wondered if things would have gone differently if she had obeyed her father and done as told. Maybe their family would still be whole and together, as it was meant to be. There would have been no war and she would still be arguing every day with Arya and her mother wouldn't look so sad all the time.

Of course, she wouldn't have come to love Sandor if things had gone that way. He would have remained the Hound, the broken man who had shared something with her once and made her sad for him instead of scared of him. He might have even gotten killed, although Sansa had a hard time imagining anyone able to do him harm. Well, there was his brother but when they had fought at the tourney, Sandor had seemed to hold his own quite well.

It was foolish to dwell on such things, she told herself everytime her thoughts took her in that direction. The past was over and done with and no amount of regrets would make it change. It would be best to forget about it all and focus on her future.

When Robb had finally arrived at Riverrun, it wasn't a triumphant blaring of trumpets that announced him but instead an eruption of barking from the kennels. Catelyn closed the book she had been reading while Sansa dropped her sewing, the two of them looking at each other.

"Robb?" Sansa guessed and her mother nodded.

"They must smell Grey Wind."

"Robb's wolf," Sansa whispered, remembering Lady for a moment before she gathered herself and stood up. "We should go see him right now," she said, happy that the secrecy was over. When her mother didn't move, Sansa paused as well. "Aren't you going to welcome him?"

"I am still detained, Sansa. Until he sends for me, I should stay here," Catelyn told her seriously.

"You are his mother," Sansa exclaimed and Catelyn smiled tightly.

"And he's my king as well as my son. I committed a treason against the king, not against the son, so I should wait."

"I shall speak for you," Sansa decided, her guilt over keeping things away from her mother making her more determined than ever to make up for it. "Robb will not say no to me."

She opened the door, Sandor already waiting for her. She walked almost briskly, anxious now to talk with her brother and straighten things out. Jon had always been Arya's favourite big brother while Robb had been hers. He would grant her anything she asked for, she was sure of that.

When they emerged into the courtyard, the men were just starting to dismount. Sansa looked over the crowd, searching for the familiar face near the standards bearing the direwolf on them. At first, she didn't recognize Robb at all, since his back was to her as he was helping a young woman down from her saddle. That had to be his wife. She was rather pretty, especially when she smiled. Yes, Sansa could come to like her easily if Robb's wife was as kind as her smile promised.

A crowd parted to Sansa's side as a large body stalked slowly forward with an easy grace. A hush fell when a fully grown direwolf, as big as a pony, stopped before Sansa and sniffed at her, his ears flattening against his skull.

"Grey Wind?" Sansa asked, tentatively reaching out to pat the wolf's head. He let her touch him and she scratched behind his ears the way that Lady had liked. He closed his eyes, his tail wagging back and forth before he pulled away from her. The wolf then looked at Sandor standing behind her and Sansa found herself holding her breath. If Grey Wind decided he didn't like him... Even Lady had growled at Sandor once, although Sansa herself had been scared of him at that time and her own wolf had always reacted to her moods.

"It is alright, Grey Wind," she told the wolf quietly as he padded forward again. He took a sniff of Sandor's cloak, looked back at her with the golden eyes that seemed almost human and then he turned and stalked away as quietly as he had appeared.

"Well, that was interesting, little bird," Sandor rumbled and Sansa laughed in relief.

"I think he liked you," she told him and Sandor smirked down at her before straightening his posture.

"Your Grace," he said and Sansa turned around to find her brother standing behind her, looking at her as if still not believing she was really there.

"Your Grace," Sansa repeated, sinking into her most elegant curtsey. "I am glad to see you well."

"Sansa," Robb spoke up, his voice slightly choked up. "Uncle Edmure let me know of your return but I did not expect you to be so different."

Sansa wasn't sure if he was referring merely to her physical appearance or to something else but she had been trained how to deal with any awkward situation. And Robb's new wife was standing stiffly at his side, clearly uncomfortable so Sansa smiled at her reassuringly.

"The last year has changed us all, brother. I heard you got married. Maybe you could introduce my new sister to me?"

Robb smiled at the girl at his side, obviously very much in love and Sansa counted that as another point in the girl's favour, to break through her brother's serious demeanour like that.

"Of course. Sansa, this is my wife, Lady Jeyne, formerly of House Westerling. Jeyne, this is my sister Sansa, of House Stark."

"I am happy to call you sister," Sansa told her, leaning in to kiss the girl on both cheeks. Since it was the mother's duty to welcome the new daughter to the hearth, Sansa herself could only express her acceptance. Jeyne blushed becomingly before she returned the gesture and words. Robb looked quite happy with that and took Jeyne's arm again.

"Maybe we should proceed into the Great Hall so I can hear more of what had been going on in Riverlands and beyond."

"Your Grace," a woman's voice called out and an elderly woman bearing an obvious resemblance to Jeyne approached them with a younger girl who might have been as old as Sansa at her heels. Jeyne's family, Sansa realized as two knights and a young boy followed them, the boy bearing a saddlebag and looking quite proud of it.

"Lady Sybell," Robb acknowledged the older woman. "Let me introduce my sister Sansa. Sansa, allow me to present Lady Sybell, the wife to Lord Gawen Westerling and Jeyne's mother," the two women exchanged nods but when Lady Sybell raised her head, she suddenly paled. Sansa moved forward as if to offer assistance - the long ride must have exhausted the woman, she thought - but then she followed the older woman's line of sight and saw her regarding Sandor with a terrified expression on her face. Sansa almost stomped her feet in frustration.

"That man-" Lady Sybell started but Sansa interrupted her with a sweet smile that was nowhere near genuine.

"Is my sworn shield, Sandor Clegane. I understand his appearance may cause alarm but I find it very useful in scaring off unwanted attention."

Sandor smirked at that though to anyone else it would look like a frightful grimace.

"I beg your pardon, Your Grace," the woman said, visibly trying to pull herself together. "I was merely surprised to find him here. His loyalty to the House Lannister is well known."

"Correct me if I am wrong, my lady," Sansa spoke in her calmest voice. "But could not the same thing be said about your House as well? You were sworn bannermen to House Lannister before joining my brother's cause, were you not?"

She must have put more venom into her tone than she had intended because Robb frowned at her, while Jeyne glanced fearfully between her mother and Sansa.

"Sansa," Robb started to say but Lady Sybell had already composed herself, even though Sansa saw that her rebuke had been noted.

"It is alright, Your Grace," Lady Sybell said. "I have been rude and for that I apologize. Princess Sansa, I did not mean any offense."

"That is quite alright, Lady Sybell," Sansa spoke graciously. "These are trying times, as we all know."

Lady Sybell smiled and Sansa smiled back, though there was something that had made her uneasy about the other woman. The younger of the knights with Lady Sybell stepped forward then, his manner easy and comfortable as he smiled.

"Maybe we should move inside, the rest of the people are getting impatient," he pointed out the still milling Northern and Riverlands' lords who were obviously waiting for their king to precede them into the hall. Sansa flushed as she thought of the scene that had just happened in front of so many witnesses. Then again, Robb should have known better than to conduct an introduction in the middle of the yard. And she shouldn't have been so provoked by someone reacting to Sandor with fear. She had feared him herself, a long time ago. But Sandor was hers now and she wouldn't let anyone look down on him.

"A spoiled princess, like I said," the man she had been thinking about told her in a low voice as they followed after Robb and his bride. Before she could respond, another man appeared at her other side, an older one with a craggy face and bearing some resemblance to her grandfather, Lord Hoster.

"You have the Tully's looks and temper, niece," he told her with a smile. Sansa knew who he was immediately, the emblem on his surcoat the final proof.

"Uncle Brynden, I am glad to have finally met you," she responded as they walked down the length of the Great Hall towards a dais where her brother intended to hold his court.

"I am glad that Cat got at least half of her wish fullfilled," he told her, clapping her on the shoulder as he took the steps to the dais two at a time while Sansa walked up with more dignity to take the place that belonged to her.

And then she schooled her face into a mask of polite interest as lord after lord went in front of Robb and reported to him all that had happened in his absence. Observing her brother, Sansa could see that he was comfortable in his role, despite his young age. Jeyne was less sure of herself but Sansa had a good feeling about her and resolved to help her new sister deal with her role as the Queen in the North and Queen of Trident. It was the least she could do.

 _Maybe things will finally go well,_ Sansa thought when her mother finally arrived to face her son and king only to be promptly forgiven for her deed. They were family again and as the earlier introductions were finished properly, Sansa allowed herself to hope. As she followed her brother, mother and both uncles into the audience chamber, to talk in private as a family, she lost herself in her thoughts and not really listened to the other four talking. Even if she did, she had no idea how her life would turn upside down in just a few short minutes.

The Frey matter was the most important one and after both Robb and Uncle Brynden scolded Uncle Edmure for his actions at Stone Mill - which Sansa found a little strange as it was not only his fault but theirs as well, at least in her estimation - the talk turned to how exactly appease the proud Lord of the Crossing.

"Lord Walder is obviously eager to have his children married into our family," Robb spoke and looked at their mother. "You said it yourself once."

"He wanted to have grandchildren who are kings," Catelyn replied.

"Princes will have to suffice," Robb said quietly and Sansa froze. No, not this again. "Sansa, I am sorry for this but you will have to marry one of his sons to bring the Freys back to our side."


	5. CATELYN III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notices: past physical abuse

CATELYN

Catelyn watched as Sansa paled at Robb's announcement, her previous happiness disappearing from her face. _Oh, Robb, why would you tell her like that?_ Catelyn had known that Sansa would be made, sooner or later, to wed some bannerman of Robb's, to either ensure the bannerman's loyalty or to reward him. That was what daughters of noble families were bred for. Sansa knew it as well and she would most likely obey, if told in a proper way. Telling her like this, to outright state that she was a price to buy an alliance... If Sansa balked at it, she could hardly be blamed for that.

"No," though quiet, Sansa's voice held a determination in it that Catelyn recognized for the Stark's stubbornness. "I will not marry anyone."

"Sansa," Robb leaned forward. "It is very important that we appease Lord Walder and regain the Frey's loyalty. They are the key to us regaining the North."

"Then maybe you should have thought of that before you broke your word to them."

Sansa's face was completely impassive, her paleness underlining the mask-like quality of her expression. She was like a beautiful doll - a sight to behold but lifeless and unnatural. Catelyn's heart clenched as she realized that this was how Sansa must have looked many times during her stay in King's Landing. It was an awful contrast to Robb's face which flushed in both shame and anger.

"I know that my conduct in this wasn't the best. As my sister, you have some right to chastise me for dishonouring the family but as my subject you are bound to obey me."

Catelyn wasn't sure if she was supposed to interfere or not. Truth be told, she was very proud of the way Sansa was behaving, making her disagrement known without resolving to tears. She hadn't grown just physically in the past year but mentally as well. Robb might have become comfortable in his role as the king but Sansa was a true princess. Even now, she drew herself up and looked at Robb as if he was her subject and not the other way around.

"Even if I agreed to this, which of Lord Frey's sons do you plan to marry me to? Those who are not yet married are his, what, fifteenth, twentieth sons? Which one of them would you deem worthy of my hand?"

"These things would have to be negotiated. It might have been one of the grandsons if you would prefer one of those."

"No, I would not prefer them, Your Grace," Sansa spoke coldly and Catelyn recognized the tone as she had been addressed with it once before. "I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, the eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn Tully, sister to the King in the North and King of the Trident. I am one of the highest-born maidens in the Seven Kingdoms. The men whose birth would match mine are very few. I know my value and I will not be handed over to one of the Freys as an apology gift. Not even for the North."

The silence that stretched after that proclammation was heavy. Robb stared at his sister as if seeing her for the very first time. Catelyn knew how he felt. Almost nothing had remained of the little girl that had left Winterfell to marry the prince. Robb didn't know how to treat her and letting him try to find out on his own would do more harm than good. Grown up or not, both of them were her children still. Catelyn didn't want them at odds with each other.

"Sansa," she crossed the room to take her daughter's hand, glad when the gesture was accepted. "I do not like this any more than you. But you are a Tully as well as a Stark. What are our words?"

"Family. Duty. Honour," Sansa repeated obediently, some of the frost leaving her face. "I know. But I have already been betrothed once and it did not work out very well. I do not want to be pushed into a marriage again."

And the cold princess from before was gone, leaving only a girl of twelve who was torn between doing as she had been raised and protecting the little bit of happiness she had found.

"Are you really that opposed to getting married?" Blackfish asked and Sansa nodded.

"I am sorry. I just," she looked down before raising her head and meeting her great-uncle's eyes. "I know I will not have a choice but to say yes one day. But not so soon after Joffrey."

Catelyn squeezed her hand, understanding what Sansa meant. The Boy King had destroyed Sansa's illusions about marriage and how she would be treated by her lord husband. Not all men were like that but Sansa couldn't know if the one she would eventually marry would be kind to her or not. And Freys as a family didn't have the best reputation, being reluctant in their loyalty and duty. Sansa was right to be wary of being offered to them.

"Sansa," Robb spoke, serious and regretful. "I know I am asking a lot. I would not do it if I did not have to. But if your marriage helps us win the north back, please, you must understand how important it is."

"So I am to pay for your mistakes, too," Sansa said quietly, her voice growing distant.

"What do you mean?" Catelyn asked, feeling her daughter shaking slightly.

"It was Oxcross, I think," Sansa told Robb, her eyes unfocused and seeing something distant. "I was summoned to see Joffrey. He was in the bailey of Maegor's Holdfast, with half of the court gathered there to watch him chastise me for my brother's actions. You see, he had received a message about your victory and since you were not there, I was to answer for you. The blows weren't that bad at first. I was probably getting used to those. When they hit me with the flats of their blades, well, those hurt a lot more. I was abed for several days after. The worst part, though, was when they ripped my dress off. I would have gladly died then, rather than endure the shame. Lord Tyrion intervened at that point and had me taken away. He also explained just why Joffrey had been so angry that he had taken his anger out on me. You triumphed and I was hurt," she blinked as if waking up and looked directly at Robb. "I paid for your victories. If you still think of me as a sister, I ask that you do not make me pay for your mistakes as well. If it please Your Grace," she added as an afterthought, curtseying and then she looked at the rest of the family. "If you excuse me, I shall take my leave. I am afraid I do not feel well."

And before anyone could stop her, she left the room quietly. Robb looked after her for a while before he stood up abruptly and threw a cup still filled with wine against the wall.

"I will kill him!" he declared, shaking in anger. "If it is the last thing I do in my life, I will kill the little bastard for what he had done to her."

"Robb," Catelyn called out, trying to calm him down, though she herself had similar thoughts. Sansa had never gone into details about the cruelty she had endured and since she was apparently suffering just by remebering those events, Catelyn couldn't fault her for avoiding the mentions of that time.

"Did you know?" Robb stalked closer to her, his manner reminiscent of a wolf. Catelyn nodded, looking away.

"Not the details, nor the extent. The day she had come back, she told me how Joffrey had had the knights of the Kingsguard hit her when she had displeased him. But she did not like to talk about it and I did not push her."

Robb ran a hand through his hair, mussing it up.

"If I knew, I would not push her on this. She looked... gods, she looked broken. My little sister has been hurt like that and I made it worse."

"Robb, you had no way of knowing," Catelyn looked at Edmure and Blackfish, both of whom wore similar expressions of anger and also a bit of guilt? in her uncle's case. Blackfish grimaced at her questioning look.

"When Edmure sent the word Sansa had been returned, I was the one who suggested that she was used to mend the breach with the Freys. I'm sorry, Cat. I did not think of what the girl must have been through. You told me once she was like you and I assumed-"

"You assumed she would do her duty without question," Catelyn finished. A reasonable assumption for anyone who knew her as well as her uncle did. And in the most cases, Sansa was like her, indeed, in looks and in nature. But there was a fair bit of a Stark in her, too and also something different, neither Stark nor Tully but something that was entirely Sansa.

"She appeared fine outside when she welcomed us," Robb interjected, pacing the room now. "She was really glad to meet Jeyne and even when she and Lady Sybell had that disagreement about the Hound..." Robb paused. "Uncle Edmure wrote that he was the one who had brought her to Riverrun and she declared him to be her sworn shield in front of everyone. She clearly trusts him, enough to defend him from others. Is she right? Can he be trusted?"

He addressed the question to Catelyn who nodded reluctantly. No matter her misgivings about Sansa's relationship with that man, his protectiveness of her was obvious. He wouldn't do anything to endanger Sansa's life.

"From the little she told me, he was one of the few to try and protect her from Joffrey. And he did take her away and delivered her safe to us. I am not fond of him," she admitted, their one talk and his attitide during it still fresh on her mind. "But I cannot doubt his abilities nor his loyalty to Sansa."

"Good," Robb looked somewhat relieved. "I will talk to him myself later on but for now, the things can stay as they are."

Catelyn gave another nod but her mind was troubled. Sansa had been very distraught when she had left. She hadn't cried but Catelyn had been given an impression that it had been only a matter of suppressing the tears until they could be let out safely. Before, Sansa would have gone to her to receive comfort. Now, she left her mother out completely.

"I am going to talk to her and see how she fares," she decided before looking at Robb. "But just so you know, a marriage at this time would have been out of the question either way."

"Why?" Edmure asked.

"Because even if she might have already bled and she looks like a woman in other aspects, too she is still only twelve years old," Catelyn pointed out. "That is too young for a marriage."

"Tell her I am sorry," Robb asked. "We will try to come up with another solution. And even if we can't, tell her I will not force her into anything she is opposed to."

"You are a good brother to her, Robb," Catelyn told him and kissed him on the cheek, making him look like her little boy again instead of the King he had become. "And Sansa is wise enough to recognize that."

"Cat?" Edmure called out as she opened the door. "I mean to have a welcome feast for Robb tonight. I gave Wayn the orders but could you oversee the preparations?"

Catelyn nodded and left the three men to their council. She wasn't surprised by Edmure's request. The steward was more than able to oversee the day-to-day running of the castle and even prepare small feasts but when it came to a feast fit for a king, with so many nobles attending, a lady's input was necessary. It was also Edmure's way of apologizing for his treatment of her by giving her some of her old responsibilities back. Maybe she should have Sansa accompany her on her rounds, to take her daughter's mind off the things that must have plagued it.

The door to Sansa's rooms was closed and there was not a guard in sight. Catelyn knew that Clegane usually stayed close to her daughter and wondered for a moment where he was. She knew he had followed them from the Great Hall to the audience chamber, staying outside while they had talked. When Sansa had left, he had most likely accompanied her but since he wasn't outside her room, did that mean Sansa was not inside? Or, a suspicion entered Catelyn's mind, he was inside the room with her?

Since eavesdropping was out of the question - not only was it not befitting a lady but the door was too thick - Catelyn knocked briskly and waited for an answer.

"Come in," Sansa's voice regained some of its strength and Catelyn opened the door, finding the scene inside less scandalous than she had feared but troubling nonetheless. Clegane was kneeling by one of the chairs in front of the hearth, his white cloak with a direwolf sigil - remade from his original Kingsguard one at Sansa's direction - wrapped around Sansa who was curled up in the chair, her eyes red from crying. He raised his head to look at Catelyn and glared at her. She was actually surprised he hadn't growled, he had looked so much like his namesake at the moment.

"Mother?" Sansa sniffed and sat up straighter, wiping at her eyes futilely, attempting to hide any proof of her weeping. "I apologize for my appearance."

Sansa had always been courteous, taking to her lessons on everything a proper lady should know like a duckling to a water. It had come to her easily in the past and it hurt Catelyn more than anything to now see her daughter pretend for her sake.

"Robb sends his apologies for what he said to you," she told Sansa straight away. "He also said that he was not going to force you into anything you do not want."

"That is good to hear," Sansa said but she did not react as joyously as Catelyn had expected. "I already gave some consideration to the matter, actually. If no other means to appease Lord Frey are found, I am willing to agree to a betrothal. To a son or a grandson of my choice, with the condition that the wedding takes place after I come of age and it is held at Winterfell."

Catelyn stared at her daughter, torn between feeling pride in her daughter and fear that something was not quite as it seemed. Clegane kept quiet the whole time, his gaze fixed on Sansa but his burned face twitched now and again. It was hard to tell what he thought about it all.

"Robb will be glad to hear that, I am sure," Catelyn spoke slowly. There was an unspoken condition that if the Freys wanted the marriage to pass, they would have to help Robb to gain the North back, committing themselves fully to his cause. If Freys would accept that was quite another thing. They might be leery of agreeing to another betrothal with how the last one went.

"If my betrothed were to fall in battle before that, though, I will not marry anyone else in his stead," Sansa added, quickly glancing at Clegane and Catelyn suddenly understood the plan. She was shocked that Sansa would be that callous, to plan to kill another man to get out of an unwanted marriage. Clegane would no doubt be able to carry that out easily without it weighing on his conscience any. He had killed many people in Lannister's service. One man for the sake of the girl he had abandoned his highly prestigious position for? It didn't even bear comparison.

"Sansa, that last condition might not be received well," she warned, hoping Sansa would realize on her own just how dangerous and foolish it was. Then again, what if it had been Clegane who had suggested that course of action and Sansa went along because of her trust in him? It would be easier to think that than to consider the other option - that Sansa had been irrevocably changed by her time in the King's Landing, her innocence and good heart destroyed and warped into thinking that a murder was a viable option for solving things.

"Why should I think about Freys' comfort when they are hardly going to care for mine?" Sansa replied. "You know as well as I do that I am just a means to an end. For them and for Robb."

"Robb cares about you," Catelyn argued. Sansa shrugged and then tugged the cloak tighter around her shoulders when it threatened to slip with the motion.

"Because I made him feel guilty. Before that, he was quite comfortable ordering me to marry to make up for his mistakes."

Catelyn frowned. During those moments in the audience chamber, Sansa's discomfort and pain at recalling her experience had been real, she was sure of that. Would Sansa really put herself through that just to make Robb feel guilty? Was her daughter capable of such a manipulation? She prayed to the Seven that it was not true.

"I did not mean to tell him about that, though," Sansa added quietly. "It just came out and when I started talking I couldn't stop myself."

Catelyn nodded and then decided to change the subject, seeing how weary Sansa still looked.

"Your uncle means to hold a feast for your brother and he asked me to supervise the preparations. Would you like to join me?"

The smile Sansa gave her was timid but genuine as she nodded. She stood up, taking off the cloak and giving it back to Clegane. The smile she gave him was brighter, Catelyn noted sourly.

"Thank you for the cloak, Sandor."

"You are welcome, little bird."

"Robb said he was going to keep Clegane as your sworn shield for now," Catelyn spoke up, feeling like she had been forgotten and wanting to recall their attention to her presence. Sansa gave a nod to acknowledge she had heard, looking away from the tall man at last. Clegane walked to the door and held it open for both of them, even tossing in a "my lady" comment that Catelyn was sure was meant to spite her. She thanked him frostily, determined not to let his insolence get to her. Sansa sighed unhappily, glancing pointedly at Clegane.

"I will not need you until the feast so you are free for the next few hours. Try not to get into trouble, please?"

His mouth twitched as he looked down at Sansa, Catelyn once again feeling like she had been reduced to an unimportant bystander.

"I think I'll go beat the shit out from some of the northerners who arrived with your brother. I'm getting tired from pounding on the riverlanders, I hope your people are tougher than them."

Sansa laughed at that and moved closer to him before stopping herself suddenly and looking at Catelyn with a slight blush.

"Just be careful and do not overdo things," she told him slightly stiffly and she turned to Catelyn. "Should we start in the kitchens?"

"That would be best," Catelyn replied, keeping her expression guarded and still. She wasn't sure what had just transpired between Sansa and Clegane but it was enough to make her worry even more than she had already done. That man might have been able to keep Sansa safe but Catelyn felt that at the same time, he was changing her. Catelyn was not yet ready to let Sansa go, not to the Freys and certainly not to Clegane. She wanted her daughter to remain hers for a while longer. Surely that wasn't too much to ask?

"What is going to be the main course?" Sansa's voice brought her out of her contemplations and Catelyn gladly focused on the present worries. She had Sansa and Robb back and there might be a grandchild soon. Family. Duty. Honour. She had the first, knew the second and hoped to help her son restore the third. Her path was clear. She would not allow her worries to hinder her.


	6. SANSA III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content Notices: sexual situations

SANSA

The feast for Robb and his new wife would have five courses, Catelyn and Sansa agreed. It was adequate for a king and wouldn't put much burden on the supplies they had at their disposal, not when the winter was coming ever closer, the Riverlands were ravaged and the northern army would soon be on the move again and needing supplies of its own.

A thick garlic soup with bread would open the feast, to be followed by trouts in a wine sauce, pigs roasted whole and covered in a buttery paste the cook swore by, ducks stuffed with herbs and cooked in their own juices and meatpies filled with a mix of poultry meat, onions and cheese. There would be several kinds of cakes and pastries and Sansa was happy to hear there were enough lemons to make several batches of her favourite treat.

The menu set down, the women moved on to the seating arrangement. The royal family - Robb and his wife, Sansa, Catelyn, Edmure, Blackfish, Lady Sybell, Ser Rolph, Ser Raynald and Elenya - would all be seated at the dais. Rollam Westerling would do his duty as Robb's squire and tend to him for the duration of the evening. Two long trestle tables would be set down the length of the Great Hall, leaving the middle free for servants to pass and later on they could be pushed aside for dancing. The whole arrangement reminded Sansa of how Winterfell's Great Hall had been done when King Robert had visited what to her seemed a lifetime ago.

The most important and influent bannermen of both the North and Riverlands, the lords and their heirs, would be seated closest to the dais, followed by the prominent commanders and knights. Sansa meant to seat them by their affiliation at first, river lords to one table and northerners to the other but Catelyn pointed out that they had been fighting under the direwolf's banner for months and such a separation was no longer necessary, nor wise indeed. And so Umber would sit with Mallister and Mormont with Bracken. Sansa observed quietly, the whole thing not quite new for her but she could certainly appreciate her mother's skill and experience. Her mother had always been her idol, the true lady ruling her husband's household with grace and dignity.

And here in her childhood home, where she had held the position of the lady of the house ever since her mother's death, Catelyn Stark knew everything and everyone. She commanded the servants and ordered the cooks, conferred with the steward and managed to get Sansa inolved in all the decisions, explaining patiently when Sansa didn't understand something. Arya had always been better at running the household, Sansa remembered suddenly, her little sister having a better mind for numbers than her.

It had been a productive afternoon and when Sansa hurried to have her bath so her hair could dry in time, she was thinking to just which dress she would put on. If a lady's courtesy was her armour, then her dress was most certainly her weapon. Sansa had had several festive dresses made for her and either of them would fit the occasion but even if Robb had agreed not to press her on the matter of her marriage, she still needed to remind others just who she was. She had to make herself appear beyond approach, someone who would seem unobtainable. She had told it true to Robb. She was one of the highest born maids in the Seven Kingdoms, descending from two Great Houses and she was the single Princess of the joined kingdoms of North and Trident.

She would put on the white and blue one, she decided. White for the North, blue for the Riverlands. Its cut made her appear taller and set off the paleness of her skin and the colour of her hair. She told her maid to lay it out for her even as she relished her last moments in the warm bath. The rain had stopped only rarely in the recent days and the water level was rising in both rivers circling Riverrun. She wondered if further north the first snows had already fallen. She had been born at the end of winter herself before the long summer that had followed but she recalled little of that time. Winter is coming. The Stark words, true as they had always been. _Will it come for us as well? Or will we get to see the spring and summer after all?_ she asked herself before she reminded herself not to dwell on that. A feast was waiting for her and so was her brother and his wife and the rest of the family. And Sandor. He would stand guard over her, in the shadows beyond the dais. Would he like her dress, she wondered. He had been so good to her earlier, she remembered.

_She kept her tears in as best she could, not letting the memory of that shameful day overwhelm her until she was safe and alone. She was vaguely aware of Sandor following her, demanding to know what the hell was wrong with her but she couldn't reply because the moment she opened her mouth, she would start crying, she knew with certainty._

_And so when the door to her room closed behind them, she threw herself into his arms and let her sobs tear out from her throat. She was shuddering and she clang to him with all her might, craving the feeling of safety only he could provide to her and he obliged, holding her tight while she let out her pain and sadness and even anger - at Joffrey, mostly, but Robb, too, for wanting her to go through it all again just so he could keep his crown. It was unfair to blame him, she knew, but she was beyond caring._

_In between her sobs, she managed to tell Sandor just what had caused her outburst and she felt his grip tighten and then his voice was next to her ear, asking if she wanted him to take her away again, somewhere else, somewhere far from here, somewhere where her family wouldn't be a source of her suffering. He would do it in a heartbeat, Sansa knew._

_But her mother was right and there was a Tully in her, too, because she said no and declared she would find another way._

_Calmer now, she asked him to give her his cloak and he put it around her, not just tossed it to her like on that day so long ago when he had given her his cloak for the first time. He helped her with the clasp and kissed her and Sansa smiled and kissed him back and for several moments they merely held each other._

_She sat down in the chair and he knelt by her side, so tall that their heads were still in the same height and Sansa started talking slowly, testing out the many possibilities that she could choose from. She couldn't refuse Robb, not if the key to regaining the North truly laid with the Freys. But she didn't want to get married, either. A betrothal then, she realized, one that should be preferably very long. And a condition attached to the wedding that would be impossible or at least very hard to fullfill._

_"You're a Stark of Winterfell. Such thinking is not very honourable," Sandor reminded her teasingly._

_"But Winterfell is gone," she protested, "Burned down by Theon to spite us when his rule crumbled. Just rebuilding it would take years."_

_And there was her answer. She was a Stark of Winterfell, she would get married in Winterfell or not at all. But even rebuilding wouldn't take forever. One day, the castle would be inhabitable again and she would have to hold up her part of the promise._

_"What if I was not longer a maiden?" she suggested shyly, peering at Sandor even as her face blushed at the notion. "With my honour in question-"_

_"They don't give a single fuck about your honour, little bird," he told her bluntly. "They want your position and wouldn't care less if you'd been fucked by a whole garrison as long as they got to get one of their own married into the royal family."_

_"They should just die," Sansa said venomously. "All of the Freys. They are fickle and petty and greedy and if not for them, Robb would not have this trouble and I would not be forced to think about how to get out of a marriage I do not want."_

_"My spoiled princess," he told her half-seriously, half-teasingly. "Maybe I should kill them for you, like I told you once. Couldn't be that hard, they're a bunch of weasels, spineless and cowardly."_

_"Would you?" she asked, remembering his promise from a room lit in green._

_"If you knew the things I'm willing to do for you, little bird, you'd be running away in fright from me," Sandor said with a rueful half-smile and she shook her head in denial._

_"No, I'm not going to fear you ever again. I haven't feared you since the tourney of the Hand and nothing can change that."_

_"Little fool," he whispered and kissed her again. Sansa smiled against his ruined mouth, finding it hard to imagine she could ever do this with anyone else, least of all a Frey. Maybe she should take Sandor up on that offer. He wouldn't even need to kill all of them, just the ones they could marry her off to. If no eligible husband for her remained, they could hardly demand a marriage, could they? But even if Sandor was more than able to defeat anyone he faced, it wasn't really practical. They would catch up on what was happening and might insist on a wedding to be earlier than agreed. A plan slowly formed but before she could ask Sandor for his opinion, someone knocked at the door._

Her mother had interrupted them but Sansa knew they would find some time alone later that night, once the ale and wine poured free and the revelry began. Her hair almost dry, Sansa slipped into the dress, turning her back on her maid to be laced. The dress was cut rather low in the front and with how tight the maid was pulling the laces, her breasts were forced close and up, making her bosom seem more bountiful than it really was. It was quite daring but the white softened the effect, the blue roses embroidered on the bodice curling gently around the swell of her breasts. The skirt was white with blue stripes of fabric sewn into it in such a way that the blue was only seen when she walked. Her sleeves were long and slashed, the blue peeking out from underneath the white.

Sansa had then a white ribbon woven into a braid which was curled around her head with the rest of her hair hanging loosely down her back. The maid then surprised Sansa by producing a handful of white roses - from the castle's glass gardens she explained - and affixing them into her hair at random. A thin silver chain around Sansa's neck was the only jewellery allowed so as not to take away from the dress and its wearer.

The overall effect was exactly like Sansa had wished. She looked... ethereal, almost. Like a winter come alive, pale, cold and far above any mortals, the red of her hair only emphasizing the impression of coldness the rest of her gave off. Sansa raised her head proudly, watching as her reflection in the looking glass smiled slowly. She was the Princess in the North and Princess of the Trident and she alone would decide just to whom she would grant her affection.

It was her uncle who had come to pick her up, Sandor a quiet shadow at his back. The stunned expression on Edmure's face was almost priceless before she met Sandor's eyes and saw how he was looking at her and she had to look away so as not to spoil the effect by blushing furiously. Similar expressions of shock awaited her as she joined the rest of the family by the door to the Great Hall, Robb and mother and uncle Brynden staring as did the Westerlings. Jeyne herself was looking very pretty in a green flowing dress but Sansa knew that she would be the one drawing the most attention. It might have been bad manners to overshine a new bride during a feast in her honour but Sansa needed this more than Jeyne did.

"Well, whoever claimed Margaery Tyrell or Cersei Lannister were prettier than you was obviously blind," Brynden Blackfish told her honestly. "You would really be wasted on Joffrey and you would be wasted on the Freys. In fact, I think you are wasted on my nephew, too. You won't mind if I escort my grand-niece, will you, Cat?" he asked but was already taking Sansa's arm and Edmure had to relent and take a place at his sister's side.

And then the door to the hall opened and Robb went in, Jeyne at his side, pretty and nervous and Edmure followed with Catelyn, then Ser Rolph and Lady Sybell and it was Blackfish's and Sansa's turn.

"Nicely done, Sansa," he told her in a low voice as they walked the length of the hall. "I presume it had a purpose other than to remind everyone just how pretty you were."

Sansa kept silent since she very much doubted her great-uncle could understand. She heard him sigh.

"You know, I have an older brother, too and he pushed me into a marriage once and I refused. I had it easier, of course. I am a man and it's more simple for us to carve ourselves a place in the world. But I know there must be a reason why you, who by all accounts observe every courtesy, would try and overshadow your new sister at her own feast by appearing as the Maiden made flesh."

"I thought I was Winter come alive, to be honest," Sansa spoke up as they reached the dais and circled it to reach their places at the high table. Blackfish chuckled.

"So you did it on purpose," he said as he pulled out her chair for her. Sansa glanced back over her shoulder to see Sandor standing in the back, his eyes focused on her and she quickly looked ahead again.

"I wanted to make it known just who I am."

"And who are you?" Blackfish asked knowingly.

"Princess in the North and Princess of the Trident and there is not a single man amongst them," she gestured with her head towards the tables, "who is worthy of me. Not a single one."

"But they will dream of you after tonight, if their faces are anything to go by," Blackfish told her just as servants poured the wine and Robb stood up to give a speech to his bannermen. And then the conversation paused because the soup was carried in and Sansa was hungrier than she had realized and Blackfish, too, seemed comfortable putting off their conversation.

The feast continued after that in a predictable manner. The main courses were brought in, to Robb and his wife first and then to the rest. Sansa tasted every dish but saved a space for lemoncakes. Her uncle monitored her wine intake, most likely at her mother's request but she still managed to drink three cups before the desserts were brought in and she felt strangely warm and light.

"Your mother told me about your plans," Blackfish finally spoke to her again while she was nibbling at her first lemoncake. "Your demands would be considered outrageous coming from someone else. After tonight only a fool would claim that any bride price you might ask in exchange for your hand is too high. Dress up like this when the Freys' envoy comes and they'll be begging to rejoin our cause just to have you consider one of them for a husband."

"A Freys' envoy?" Sansa asked and Blackfish nodded.

"We sent a raven earlier."

"But I thought Robb had said-"

Brynden Tully patted her hand calmingly.

"Don't worry, Sansa. The raven carried another offer. It's about time your uncle got married as well. Lord of Riverrun might not be such a prize as you but he might be enough to convince Lord Frey to forgive your brother."

Sansa looked at Robb who was talking to their mother but held Jeyne's hand in his own and she smiled. Maybe all of her plans were not necessary after all. She wouldn't be forced into a marriage any time soon and could just enjoy being with her family. She should ask Jeyne what she liked to do, maybe they could break their fast together and just talk. Yes, that was a good idea.

The food was carried off soon after and the long tables pushed further away, clearing a space for the dancing. Robb rose first, leading his bride down and Sansa was pulled to her feet by Blackfish who laughingly told her he was going to make every man in the hall jealous of him by having her dance with him. And then uncle Edmure claimed her hand, joking about how his Blackfish of an uncle had robbed him of her company. Robb was more solemn and they almost didn't talk aside from his whispered apology and her granted forgiveness. And then Greatjon Umber shouldered aside all men in his path, roaring in his loud voice that he would dance with his princess next.

He was almost as large as Sandor and his son who spun her around after him was even larger. He also wore a big and painful looking bruise on his face, but when Sansa inquired about it politely, he laughed it off before commenting that she had one hell of a warrior for a sworn shield. So it had been Sandor who had given him that bruise, Sansa ascertained, looking around the hall for her sworn shield but not seeing him anywhere. He wasn't one for dancing and had most likely grabbed a jug of wine and was drinking somewhere in the corner.

It seemed that every noble in the room was intent on dancing with her at least once. Ser Raynald, Jeyne's brother, was a good and pleasant company but Ser Rolph was too stiff and silent. Curiously enough, even though most of the men were well into their cups, not one of them behaved in an inappropriate manner towards her. They even kept more distance than strictly necessary while dancing and Sansa came to realize just how much of an impression she had made on them. They truly thought she was untouchable. And to them she was.

Soon after that realization, Sansa excused herself, claiming fatigue. Patrek Mallister escorted her back to her seat and she dismissed him with a smile after he poured a cup for her. She sat alone at the dais, Lady Sybell, Ser Rolph, Elenya and her own mother having already retired for the night. Robb and Jeyne were dancing still, as were the others from the high table. With not a single person paying attention to her, Sansa drank her fourth cup, having worked up a thirst while dancing and she stood up, slipping towards the door behind the dais. She didn't get far before she was swept up in a crushing embrace but she knew those arms and she pulled Sandor's mouth to hers without even checking if anyone was watching.

"You taste like wine," she giggled, lightheaded and drunk on the wine and happiness.

"So do you, little bird," he growled before he practically devoured her mouth with his own. Sansa surrendered to his lead eagerly, her worries gone after the talk with her uncle. Sandor pressed her up against the wall, putting one of his hands against her neck lightly. "Every man in that room was staring at you. Do you know how that felt?" He trailed his hand down to her collarbone and even lower, caressing the top of her breasts. "They all wanted to touch you, to claim you as theirs."

"But I am not theirs," she whispered. "None of them dared to touch me inappropriately. I am their Princess, the Maiden made flesh as my uncle said. They cannot touch me without my permission."

"What about me, little bird?" he rasped against her ear as he cupped her left breast in his hand, his thumb pressing down on her nipple through the cloth. "Can I touch you?"

"Yes," she breathed and gave over to his touch. He was always in control with her, reasoning that it was hard enough to hold back with her moaning so prettily into his ears without her caresses added into the mix.

He claimed her mouth again, the kiss deep and passionate, their tongues meeting as Sansa responded to him while he continued caressing her body. He hoisted her higher against the wall, cursing under his breath when he realized her dress was laced up in the back. Sansa laughed, the sound lost in the noise from the Great Hall as she held on to his shoulders, dimly aware of Sandor pulling her skirt higher until it was bunched around her thighs. Her legs free to move, she hooked them around his waist and pressed herself closer to him.

Sandor put an arm around her waist to steady her as he put his hand on her thigh, glancing up at her face. Sansa nodded, strangely warmed that he still sought her permission for this when he had no trouble kissing her senseless anytime he wanted. His rough fingers slipped under her smallclothes, pressing into the curls already growing wet from her sweat and other things. And then he pressed against that special place and Sansa buried her head against his neck to muffle her moan. It got better everytime he touched her there it seemed and he must have known how she felt because he rubbed that spot again and again, setting off an explosion of feelings in Sansa that she had never been aware of until she had met him.

Her fingers clenched and opened at his shoulders convulsively, her whole body feeling light as air. A warmth was spreading in her tummy and pooling lower into the place where Sandor's finger performed its magic on her. And suddenly it hit her like a blast of cold wind on a summer day. She shook and bit down on his shoulder, all of her limbs seizing at once only to go limp after. Sandor looked immensely smug when he lowered her down from his hold, her legs uncertain as that of a young filly.

"Did my princess enjoy it?" he asked teasingly. She nodded and he tipped her head up so she was looking at him. "Maiden made flesh? I doubt it. Maidens don't moan like that."

"You made me," she accused him and he laughed, smoothing a lock of hair away from her face.

"That I did, little bird, that I did. Now we should get you back to that feast so you're not suspected of consorting with someone in dark corners."

"It is a corridor, Sandor," she pointed out primly, smoothing out her dress and hair. Luckily for her, it was late and she could always claim she was disheveled from dancing. Sandor followed after her as they emerged back into the Great Hall. Edmure Tully was sitting at the table, drinking. He raised an eyebrow at her but Sansa explained how she needed fresh air and Sandor went along to protect her as was his duty. He pulled out a chair for her and she sat down, thanking him in her most polite tone as her eyes told him all she couldn't say outloud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everything I have so far. Next update should be up in cca two days.


	7. CATELYN IV

CATELYN

The Stark and Westerling women broke fast together in the morning after the feast and then spent some time either talking or in the case of the younger ones doing needlework. Sansa and Jeyne were quickly becoming friends from what Catelyn could see and they both did their best to involve Elenya in all their plans. While Catelyn found it strange at first that Sansa would get along better with the older Jeyne instead of Elenya who was the same age as her, the reason for that became clear soon enough. Sansa had outgrown her childhood already. It was not only because of her looks but also her attitude.

As Catelyn and Lady Sybell watched, Sansa was explaining to Elenya about the embroidery she was working on. Sansa had talent for such things but from what Catelyn had remembered, she had never tried to explain things to Arya in the same way. Sansa had excelled at many things and had always accepted the praise for them with modesty, as befitted a young lady, but she hadn't offered her help to others, not unless she had been told to. Wanting all the praise and attention for herself was a mark of a child. Sansa was starting to move past that and into an adulthood.

Catelyn had been both scared and reassured by the way Sansa had dressed for the feast. Scared because the dress had showed very clearly how much Sansa had grown physically - if Catelyn hadn't known any better, she would have guessed her daughter to be at least four and ten, if not older - and reassured because styling herself as the Princess she was was something a younger Sansa would have done. Catelyn still remembered how Sansa had worried about her appearance prior to the King's arrival to Winterfell and the endless debates she had led with Jeyne Poole as to which dress to wear for the feast. The young girl from back then was not entirely gone and Catelyn was grateful for that.

"I am happy that they get along," Lady Sybell commented to her and Catelyn nodded in agreement.

"They are becoming sisters in truth," she said quietly, thinking of Arya for a moment. Sansa believed Arya was still alive somewhere but Catelyn found it harder to hope. And as kind and pretty and well-behaved as Jeyne was, she would never fill the empty place belonging to Catelyn's wild younger daughter.

"Princess Sansa is very kind to instruct Elenya as she does," Lady Sybell spoke up. "Our own septa had passed away shortly before the siege and there was no time to send for another."

"I am sorry to hear that. Your daughters do her credit, though."

Lady Sybell smiled a little at that. She had kept her distance from everyone and Catelyn understood why. Even though no one would dare to say it outloud, many men resented the Westerlings for their involvement in the Frey matter, no matter how much of the blame was shared by Robb himself. Jeyne was spared the worst of it, the feelings between the young royal couple obvious to everyone, but Lady Sybell was neither blind nor deaf and she must have known how some of the northerners and riverlanders viewed her family.

Catelyn herself tried her best to push the political ramifications from her mind when dealing with Jeyne. The girl should not be blamed for falling in love with her son. Sansa seemed to share that opinion. She and Jeyne went for a walk around the castle earlier and even talked about venturing on a short ride to the country when the weather permitted, which was not likely to happen any time soon. Sansa called Jeyne her sister as often as she did by name, especially when in hearing of some of the bannermen. She persuaded Robb to assign Dacey Mormont as Jeyne's guard, correctly assuming that the non-judgmental heiress of the Bear Island would be easier to get along with for the young Queen than the other candidates.

With the possibility of the breach between him and the Freys being mended through Edmure's marriage, Robb also started planning his campaign for retaking the North while keeping Riverlands safe at the same time.

To Catelyn's dismay, Clegane was to have a part in those meetings. As Robb had put it, the man had both a talent and an experience in fighting and leading men in battles. His knowledge of the Lannisters came in useful, too. And he had fought against the Ironborn before, during their failed rebellion. With Sansa either keeping to her rooms or spending time with Jeyne, his presence at her side would be unnecessary for the better part of the day. Even Sansa had agreed with that reasoning, though she was clearly reluctant to part with her guard for a longer period of time.

Catelyn was sure that this acceptance on Robb's part had a lot to do with Grey Wind's behaviour. As loath as she was to admit it, the large direwolf didn't act aggressively around Clegane, not as she had seen him act around Ser Rolph. The wolf might have growled and snapped a bit but it was more playful than threatening. Having told Robb to trust his wolf's instincts, she could not deny the fact of Grey Wind's, for lack of a better word, accepting manner. The only good thing to come out of that would be Clegane's reduced contact with Sansa.

Her daughter glanced up suddenly and met her eyes as if she had heard her thoughts. But when she merely smiled, Catelyn realized that she had been staring at Sansa for so long the girl had noticed. She smiled back, conveying her approval for her daughter's actions in regards to Elenya. Sansa ducked her head, blushing, and turned her attention to her own work.

"Having daughters is hard," Lady Sybell said suddenly, her own eyes trained on Jeyne who was embroidering a tunic as a gift for Robb. "They grow up fast and men start giving them attention and you can never be sure if they are going to choose the right one."

"Robb loves her," Catelyn pointed out, hearing the bitter undertone in the other woman's words.

"He does," Lady Sybell agreed. "But not his men. Not all of them. I cannot help but worry. Jeyne is barely more than a child. And with this talk of fighting, I must think on what will happen to her should he fall in battle, gods prevent such a thing from happening."

Catelyn frowned. Lady Sybell was right, of course. Robb always led his men himself and having his guard around him was not always enough to protect him. His wound while taking the Crag had showed that clearly.

"She is a Stark now. She will be protected," Catelyn declared and Lady Sybell lowered her head.

"I pray you are right, Lady Catelyn."

They were interrupted by Elenya proudly showing them her embroidery work. It was very good, Catelyn and Lady Sybell praised. It showed a wolf's head next to a seashell. The wolf was for Robb, Elenya explained and the shell for Jeyne and they were next to each other because they were married now. Catelyn smiled at the girl's enthusiasm, even though her smile dimmed when she found Sansa quietly putting away her own work without showing it off first. _She's grown-up, she doesn't need my approval anymore,_ Catelyn thought.

Sansa and Jeyne left together shortly after, the tall and graceful Dacey Mormont following behind them before Sansa asked her to tell them a story of the Bear Island and the three women soon walked side by side, the only difference between them being Dacey's male clothing and the sword at her side. Lady Sybell and Elenya left for their rooms, too and Catelyn went to visit her ailing father. It wasn't going to be long now, she knew. He hadn't woken up in several days and only Maester Vyman feeding him a mixture of water and honey kept him alive. The whole thing reminded Catelyn sharply of the days after Bran's fall and she took a refuge in her rooms and cried for a while. Not just for her father and memories of Bran. She cried for Robb and the burden he carried, for Sansa and her forced maturing and she cried for herself, too, for not being able to do more to help and protect her children.

The cry had helped her to centre herself better. She had been keeping it inside for too long, she saw now, all that grief and worrying weighing down on her and making her more desperate than she should be. Drying her eyes and washing her face, Catelyn Stark resolved to not give into her feelings again. She still had her place in the world - to guide and advise her remaining children as they found their own places to be. Robb might not need her in a war council but she could always advise him when it came to dealing with his bannermen. And Sansa, for all she looked and behaved a woman was a young girl still. There was a distance between them, true, but that could be overcome with time and patience. Sansa needed her - Catelyn knew it on that deep instinctual level the mothers possessed - but she was afraid to approach her. They had to rebuild the trust between them first before Sansa could confide in her whatever it was that had been bothering her for a while now.

Catelyn carried out what little of her duties she had during the day, spending the rest of it talking to some of the bannermen, mostly those she had noticed the previous night to be more resentful of Robb than others. Old Lord Karstark was noticeably missing, allegedly spending his time in the camp with his men instead of in the castle. He was still angry then, over her letting go of the Kingslayer. Robb's refusal to punish her for the treason as Lord Karstark had called it must have chafed at the old man still more. Catelyn decided to devote part of her night prayers for him, so that he might find some peace for his slain sons.

Sansa ate dinner with her, Blackfish joining them after looking in on his brother. They conversed a bit about everything, Blackfish confirming that a strategy was being formed but with a few days yet to go before the answer from the Twins arrived, no definite plans for the northern campaign could be made. He was quite optimistic, though, that the Late Lord Frey would see a reason.

Catelyn went to sleep with a lighter heart than before, hoping for a good night's sleep for once. It was not to be granted. It was after midnight when a servant came to wake her up, speaking about Robb asking for her presence in the Great Hall. Catelyn dressed in a hurry, wondering what could have happened. A news from the south? Or maybe a message from the Vale? Had something happened to Lysa?

But as she entered the Great Hall, she saw it was something much worse. Robb stood at the dais, dressed in haste like her, his crown sitting atop his uncombed hair. Edmure stood at his side, battling yawns and frowning heavily. To one side of the dais stood Sansa, the only one who appeared dressed properly. Clegane stood in front of her, his clothing slashed in some places and stained by what Catelyn knew was blood. He had his greatsword unsheathed and was holding it against the neck of a man that Catelyn immediately recognized as Lord Rickard Karstark. What was going on?

"What has happened?" she asked as soon as she reached the dais.

"Mother," Robb told her, his kingly demeanor apparent. "Sansa will explain."

"I couldn't sleep so I went for a walk around the castle," Sansa spoke in a tight controlled voice, her face passive. "I had Sandor summoned to guard me. We came upon Lord Karstark and several of his men heading for the tower where the captives are held. When I asked him what he meant to do, he claimed he was going to have his vengeance upon the Kingslayer exacted on his kin. I tried to stop him, ordered him not to attack but he didn't listen. He even said he would cut me down if I were to stand in his path," Sansa swallowed, her facade slipping. "I had no choice. I told Sandor to prevent him from reaching the tower at any cost. And he did."

Clegane glanced back at her worriedly, hearing the catch in her voice the same as Catelyn did.

"I know it was necessary," Sansa said angrily, though at whom that anger was aimed was hard to tell. "Those men were traitors to Robb."

"Clegane killed them all?" Catelyn asked, realizing that Sansa was angry about having to order those deaths.

"No," the man spoke up. "The commotion was enough to summon other soldiers. I killed three, I think, before others arrived."

Sansa was looking to the ground and Catelyn wanted to reach out and take her hand, to comfort her. But she couldn't, not yet. First, they had to deal with Lord Karstark's treason. Sansa's well-being would have to wait.  
TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe I almost forgot about Karstarks... more details on that encounter in next chapter.


	8. SANSA IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Notices:** underage, violence, implied sexual relations between an adult man and a young girl

SANSA

The evening had been going well and the preceding day even more so. Sansa had spent most of it with Jeyne and Dacey Mormont, the two northerners telling the young Queen about her new land. They had looked upon the men in the training yard, Lady Dacey providing a commentary on the skills being displayed there. The only tense moment had occured when Grey Wind had stalked out of the kennels after catching their scent. Neither Sansa nor Dacey had been scared, both of them being familiar with the direwolf but Jeyne had trembled for a while after he had left them alone.

The young Queen had explained how she had seen the large wolf slaughter one of her household's knights and how terrible a sight it had been. Sansa had been able to sympathize but she couldn't have offered more than some consolatory words. It had been a war and men had died all the time. Being killed by a direwolf or by a sword, what difference had it made when in the end the result had been the same?

They had parted before the dinner. Jeyne and Dacey had planned to take their meal in the Great Hall with the rest of the castle's inhabitants. Sansa, on the other hand, had meant to seclude herself with her mother again. She had meant to ask her several things, not in the least regarding her moonblood. It had been almost a month now since her last bleeding and although she had been instructed by her handmaidens, she had also wanted to talk about it with her mother.

Blackfish's arrival had put a hold on those plans but since he had been more than willing to discuss some of the plans that Robb and his men had been preparing, Sansa had been glad for his company nonetheless. Her mother, too, had been less tense than before and everything had seemed to be going well.

Having not seen Sandor since the early morning, Sansa decided that she would try and get him alone to talk. She had seen the signs in the morning of him pulling away from her again. He had done the same thing every time their intimacies had crossed certain line. The first time it had happened, she had been hurt by it, thinking it had been her fault. The second time she had realized that he had blamed himself for going as far as he had with her. He wanted her and at the same time didn't want to want her. Sansa couldn't understand. If she loved him and let him do those things to her, that made it alright, didn't it?

She waited for the castle to calm down, not wanting to give servants a cause for gossip, before opening her door and stepping outside. Sandor stood at guard by her door, as she had insisted upon earlier. He looked down at her, taking in her cloak and he sighed.

"I cannot sleep," she said out loud, in case anyone was listening. "Walk with me around the castle for a while."

Her tone didn't allow for an argument and he nodded, offering her his arm, a gesture she liked the most of all those that a courtly behaviour demanded. She kept quiet while they walked the inhabited parts of the castle until they reached the entrance to the dungeons. From there, Sansa had them go into the courtyard before the tower where the noble hostages had been kept under guard. With only two guards further inside, it was as private a place as could be found in Riverrun, now that the northern bannermen had arrived. Sansa directed them towards a low remains of an older wall and sat down, leaving a free space beside her.

"Sit," she told him and since he appeared reluctant to do so, she added a soft, "Please."

"So I'm your dog after all, little bird, aren't I?" he said but did as she had asked, sitting down next to her. Sansa pressed herself into his side, laying her head against his arm.

"Why do you always do it?" she asked and felt his muscles tense under her. He wasn't wearing his armour. "You touch me and make me feel so good but then you act like you have committed some grave sin."

"You just don't understand, little bird."

"Then explain it to me," she pleaded, reaching up to turn his face towards her, her hand touching his scarred cheek gently. "You... care for me, do you not?" she didn't dare say love, not with how he had reacted to her own confession. Maybe he didn't even know what love was. But caring for someone was different. He must have cared for her at least a little. His actions spoke clearly about it, she was sure of that.

"Damn it!" he cursed but he didn't move. "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth. You will never lie to me so tell me why?"

"Because you're a liar," he spoke bitterly and it was Sansa who pulled away as if stung. He looked down at his hands and continued in a harsh voice, paying no mind to her wounded expression. "You look and act a woman and you smile at me and make me feel... fuck, this'd be easier if I was drunk," he mumbled as he rubbed his face tiredly. "You're beyond me, little bird, much better and sweeter and prettier than anything else in my life and I want you, gods, do I want you..."

Sansa reached for one of his hands, so different from her own - in size and in texture - and took it between both of hers.

"I want you, too," she tried to assure him, thinking that was the problem but he shook his head and pulled his hand free from her grasp. He was putting a distance between them, Sansa realized. He didn't want her touching him while he spoke his thoughts to her.

"You're a liar because you make me believe you're a woman grown and I forget how young you really are."

"I have already bled," she pointed out. That made her a woman in all regards, as far as she was concerned. He snorted at that.

"Aye, a month past," he turned to her suddenly, grasping her chin and raising it until their faces were inches apart. "Tell me, little bird, why do you want me?"

"Because I love you," she said simply. She felt him exhale.

"So you said. But why? You could have any man you wanted. Why choose me?"

Sansa frowned. This wasn't right. When you loved someone you didn't care about why you felt that way. Love wasn't something you explained. It was something you felt, deep inside. But Sandor wanted her to explain herself and so she tried.

"You make me feel safe," she started. "You are brave and gentle and strong. You were kind to me when no one else was. You are no knight but your word is as good as an oath. You are scarred on the outside, yes," she smiled, putting her palm against his left cheek, cupping it before she pressed the same hand into his chest over where his heart beat steadily. "But your heart is truer for that."

She tried to lean in, to kiss him - because that was supposed to happen after a speech like that - but he held her face firmly and gently and when he spoke, there was a sadness in his voice.

"So that's the story you're making up in your head about us."

"I am not making anything up," she protested. "It is all true."

He was about to reply to her, something scathing and sarcastic most likely but then he cocked his head to the side, listening to something and then he jumped to his feet, pulling her up and behind him. And then Sansa heard it too - several pairs of feet walking through an archway, a clink of an armour and low voices. A patrol, most likely.

She breathed in relief and was about to tell Sandor not to worry but he pushed her further behind him towards the wall. She could see the light of the torches the men carried and as she watched them enter the courtyard, she counted eight of them. But patrols usually consisted of two or four men, rarely more.

She understood suddenly why Sandor was so tense. These men weren't supposed to be here. She even recognized their leader, Lord Rickard Karstark, the only man missing from last night's feast, she remembered. And then she recalled how hateful he had been to her mother, calling Lady Catelyn a traitor for releasing the Kingslayer. And the men bore their swords unsheathed, ready for use. Sansa looked over to the tower which supposedly held high-born captives. If there were any Lannisters there...

Lord Karstark had yet to see the two of them, so intent he was on the tower in front of him and Sansa knew she couldn't let him pass without finding out his intent.

"Good evening, Lord Karstark," she called out, stepping around Sandor into the torchlight.

"Lady Sansa?" the old man sounded surprised by her presence.

"Are you unable to sleep the same as me, my lord?" Sansa asked politely. "I hoped a walk would clear my head and tire me out. There have been so many things happening recently that one cannot be blamed for finding it hard to sleep."

She stopped a good distance from him and felt Sandor move behind her quietly, his looming presence reassuring. Lord Rickard seemed torn as to what to do. He looked at her long and hard and then he glanced behind her at Sandor and his face grew tight and determined.

"Aye, child, I couldn't find sleep. It has eluded me ever since my sons have gone unavenged, ever since your mother released their murderer," he spat out.

"What do you mean to do?" Sansa asked, hoping her voice wouldn't tremble. Lord Karstark had seven men with him. Sandor was better than any of them but they were armoured and he was not and were they to take him from two sides, they might overpower him.

"I mean to have vengeance for my sons, girl."

"Pay some respect, ser, you're talking to your Princess," Sandor rumbled out suddenly and Karstark grimaced before he spat at Sansa's feet.

"Princess of nothing, with Lannister dog nipping at her heels, aye. The boy takes Lannister wife, the girl walks alone with her Lannister guard and the mother lets the worst Lannister of all go free. My sons won't have justice like this."

"Lord Karstark," Sansa tried to appeal, putting aside what he had said for now. "You are grieving, I understand, but killing whoever is in that tower will not help your sons rest peacefully."

"I know. Only Kingslayer's blood would have paid that debt in full but the blood of his kin would have to suffice."

"I cannot allow that," she said firmly. "I order you to stand back and lay down your weapons, my lord."

Sansa tried to put as much command as she could into her voice, holding up her head and straightening her back. Lord Karstark sneered at her.

"The days when I listened to children are over. You are a woman and a child still but if you keep standing between me and my vengeance I shall cut you down without any remorse. Anyone coming between a father and his vengeance asks to die."

He wouldn't back down, Sansa could see now. He was willing to cast off everything for the sake of his revenge. He still had two living children but it seemed the shadow of his dead ones blinded him to their existence. She could sympathize with him but if he was allowed to slaughter helpless men in their cells, what would that say about Robb or uncle Edmure? When the men yielded in a battle and their captors accepted their surrender, the hostages were granted safety until the ransom was delivered or exchange could be made. Of course, not all of hostages were treated fairly, her own stay in King's Landing a prime example of it. But the Starks and Tullys were better than the Lannisters. They had to be better.

"Sandor?" she asked quietly and he moved to her side.

"Aye, little bird?"

"A hound will die for you?" she asked as Lord Karstark watched them suspiciously.

"Yes, little bird, he will."

With that confirmation, Sansa closed her eyes, uttered a short prayer to the Seven - _keep him safe, I beg you_ \- and opened them again, looking straight at Lord Karstark.

"Lord Karstark and his men must not enter that tower, Sandor. Stop them at any cost."

Sandor moved past her fluidly, holding his greatsword in both hands. He towered over the eight northerners who raised their own weapons in preparation.

"Keep Lord Karstark alive if possible," Sansa called out as she moved back to the wall, to give Sandor more space in which to fight. "He will be Robb's to deal with."

"As you command, my lady," she could hear the grin in his voice. He liked killing, she remembered him telling her. _The sweetest thing there is,_ he called it. And as she watched him move in the flickering torchlight, moving against eight men at once without fear, she saw him transformed once again. He reached Lord Karstark first and delivered a blow into his head with the pommel of his sword, felling the old man immediately. His speed had taken the Karstark's men by surprise and he took full advantage of that, rounding on the closest one and slashing down, opening an ugly wound down his chest. Sansa gasped. The man was wearing a chain mail shirt and to cut through the steel rings so easily...

The things got confusing after that. The men dropped the torches, some of those going out, the rest flickering wildly and casting shadows all over the ground. The steel rang as the swords clashed, a gasp of pain echoed out as another figure crumbled down - too small, it wasn't Sandor, he was still fighting - and the shorter figures backed off, spreading out, circling the taller man in their midst.

A shout came from the tower, demanding an explanation but Sansa kept her eyes on the fight, on Sandor, hoping that he would prevail. Two men charged him at once from two sides but he twisted somehow, avoiding both of their swords, no, one of them cut him, but it didn't even slow him down as he brought his own sword in an arc and then one of the attackers was falling apart, no it was just his arm that fell off...

Sansa covered her mouth to keep herself from vomiting. Seeing Sandor cut off that man's arm brought back her memories of the riot and how that other man's hand still twitched even after it was cut off. She couldn't see from this distance if the northerner's arm was twitching. She thought it was.

The five remaining men were keeping their distance now, wary of Sandor. Sansa wondered if she should try and order them to surrender when they gave nods at each other and charged Sandor again, all five of them at once, seemingly heedless of their own safety. Sandor swept his greatsword in an arc in front of him, making them back off but one slipped behind his back, trying to stab him. Sandor must have been unnaturally aware of his surroundings because he moved to the side, the blade that had aimed for the middle of his back piercing his side only. And then he slammed his arm against the blade, keeping it - and its bearer - in place as he grasped his sword in one hand only and stabbed the man behind him in an impossible looking move. As his attacker fell down, Sandor lifted his arm and the man's sword slipped out, dark with Sandor's blood. But he merely raised his head and grinned, the shadows making his scarred face even more terrifying.

"Who's next?"

Sansa would have gladly put a stop to it - he was hurt, he couldn't keep fighting like that - but there was a commotion from the archway and armed men started pouring in, led by the gigantic figures of the two Umbers.

"What is going on here?" Greatjon Umber roared and Sansa felt calm wash over her.

"I can explain, Lord Umber," she spoke, walking slowly forward. "First though, take Lord Karstark and his surviving men into custody."

"My lady?" the Greatjon frowned but gestured for his men to do as she asked. Seeing how outnumbered they were, the four men yielded, all the while casting baleful glares at Sandor and Sansa both. Sansa herself moved over to Sandor's side as soon as she could, looking at his injuries fearfully.

"I'm not about to die, little bird," he told her and she nodded, well aware that anything more would have to wait until this situation was solved.

"Lord Umber," she called out and the large man went over obediently. "I believe you want an explanation."

"That would be nice, my lady," the Greatjon told her, looking over the courtyard and the dead Karstark guards.

"I was unable to sleep so I went for a walk," Sansa started. "I had Sandor accompany me, to keep me safe. We met Lord Karstark and his men and after I asked their purpose in being here, Lord Karstark said he was going to have his vengeance on the Kingslayer carried out upon the Kingslayer's kin. Do we hold any Lannisters captive?"

"Aye," the Greatjon said. "Willem Lannister, I think and Tion Frey. Your brother holds Martin Lannister, too, but he is kept elsewhere."

"Frey?" Sansa asked and it was Sandor who answered her.

"Lord Tywin's sister Genna married a Frey. The boy must be her son."

"The other two?"

"Ser Kevan's, I think. Tywin's brother."

"So the captives are Ser Jaime's cousins?" Sansa asked for confirmation and the Greatjon nodded. "I see. Lord Karstark meant to kill them, to avenge his fallen sons. I knew I could not let that happen so I ordered Lord Karstark to stand down. He refused and said he would cut me down if I tried to stop him. At that point, I had no other choice. I ordered Sandor to stop them at any cost."

And he almost died for it. Sansa didn't speak the words but she felt her throat tighten at the thought. She wouldn't lose him, she couldn't. Greatjon seemed unaware of her inner turmoil, looking around with a new eye.

"You are a dangerous man, Clegane," he said approvingly. "Hah, I'm glad you are on our side now," he slapped his shoulder in camaraderie and turned to shout orders at his men. Robb must have been notified by now, Sansa realized. "You should go to the Great Hall," Lord Umber turned back to her. "The King will want to hear it from you."

Sansa felt tired but she knew that it would be a while before she would be allowed to sleep. She walked to the Great Hall slowly, Sandor following her. She hoped his wounds were not as serious as they appeared to her. Robb was already waiting and so were uncles Edmure and Brynden. She repeated her story again and Robb sent out Blackfish immediately, with orders to check on the Karstarks' camp. Lord Rickard himself was dragged in and Sandor moved in without asking, forcing the man to his knees and laying his sword against his neck. Sansa understood. The old man had threatened her personally and as she was the one responsible for his capture - as it was her sworn shield who had done it - she was also responsible for keeping him under guard during the preliminary trial.

When her mother walked into the room, Sansa repeated the tale for what she hoped was the last time. She could see the blood seeping from the wound in Sandor's side and she couldn't focus properly anymore. He should have it tended to but for that they needed to leave the Hall.

"Robb," she called quietly. "Could we please delay the trial until the morning? I am very tired."

Robb looked at her and the frown he had been wearing the whole time lessened.

"Of course," he assured her. He motioned for his guards and had them take Lord Karstark away. He then walked down from the dais and took hold of Sansa's shoulders, looking her over. "You're alright?" he asked and Sansa nodded, touched by his concern. He was still her brother first and foremost.

"Sandor kept me safe."

Robb gave a terse nod in Sandor's direction.

"Good job, Clegane. Have those wounds looked at."

"I will do it," Sansa volunteered quickly. "I feel it is my responsibility since he received them in my defense."

Robb was about to protest but their mother interfered.

"I will help her, Robb, do not worry."

"Thank you mother," Sansa told her, even if it meant that she would not be able to finish her talk with Sandor. But she would be able to tend to his wounds at the very least and to make sure he was alright. That was a fair exchange, she thought. "Shall we go?"

"Yes, we shall."

TBC


	9. CATELYN V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Content Notices:** mentions of violence, language

CATELYN

Sansa was very anxious and worried about Clegane and once Catelyn took a better look at the man she could understand why. The wound to his arm didn't appear that serious, merely a cut, but the one in his side looked truly bad. The whole side of his tunic was drenched in blood and he obviously favoured it. And still the man tried to bat away all attention.

"Stop fussing, little bird," he almost growled and Sansa drew away with a hurt expression on her face before setting her jaw stubbornly.

"You are hurt and you need tending to."

"Then call the buggering maester and let him do his job."

"You were hurt because of me," she hissed quietly. "You could have died fighting those men."

Clegane snorted and flexed the fingers on his sword hand.

"Hardly. And even if I did, isn't that what a sworn shield's supposed to do, hmm? Defend his charge at the cost of his own life?"

Catelyn watched their interaction quietly, her presence once again forgotten by them. She had interrupted them before but she was going to let this one play out. Even if the concern in Sansa's face was more than Catelyn deemed appropriate for the situation. Her daughter was trying to make this look like a lady caring for a man hurt in her service but her behaviour was similar to that of a worried lover. Nevertheless, Sansa would do well to learn how to tend to a wounded man, with the war still raging.

Arranging the clean cloths, sewing supplies and other necessities on a tray, Catelyn looked over at her daughter and her sworn shield. Sansa was now gently probing around the cut in his arm while Clegane looked down on her, letting her do as she pleased at last. It was probably the first time Catelyn had seen him so quiet and calm. In those first few days after Sansa's arrival, there had been several remarks made about her taming the Lannister dog but they had been mostly meant in jest. Observing them now, Catelyn thought there was more truth to the whole matter than she was comfortable with.

"You know how this goes, Clegane," she finally spoke, putting the tray down.

"Got any wine?" he asked and she handed over a flagon of red. Sansa put a concerned hand on his shoulder, stopping him from drinking.

"Are you sure that wine is a good idea?"

"Takes off the edge from the pain," Clegane muttered and took a long swig. Catelyn handed Sansa a bowl with a clean water and a cloth.

"We need to clean his wounds first. Are your clothes stuck to any of them?" she asked him. He tugged at his tunic experimentally and nodded.

"Yes, the side is stuck. The one on the arm is just a scratch, it already started clotting over but the side is worse. The bastard ran me through and it bled a lot."

Catelyn nodded. She had expected that much.

"Sansa," she started, waiting until her daughter focused on her completely. "The first thing to do is to separate the cloth from the wound with the least possible aggravation. Use the clean water to soften the fabric until it can be pulled off the wound. Good. You can take it off, Clegane," she told him and he complied wordlessly, clearly used to the procedure. Catelyn saw Sansa glancing away and blushing at the sight of the half-naked man who seemed amused by her reaction if his twitching mouth was any indication. This subtle sign of Sansa's innocence reassured Catelyn immensely. Focusing on the wounded man again, she clucked at seeing the gaping injury in his side. It was more severe than she had expected. "How exactly did this happen?"

"He was the fastest man there, I needed to take him out," Clegane narrated in between the swigs of wine as Sansa dabbed at the wound under Catelyn's directions. "He got behind my back and I let him stab me and then pinned his sword down, keeping it in so he couldn't move."

Catelyn now understood just why the wound looked the way it did. If the man had tried to pull his blade free it would account for the torn edges around the wound instead of the clean lines of a typical stabbing injury.

"How could you have been so reckless?" Sansa asked quietly as Catelyn handed her a linen cloth to staunch the blood flow that renewed with their cleaning efforts.

"It was a calculated risk," he replied. "I have been skewered through more times than you would think and this isn't nearly the worst of them."

Sansa frowned at his answer, still looking displeased and worried. Catelyn tried to distract her by setting her to cleaning out the small cut on Clegane's arm while she gathered the sewing supplies needed to close the wound in his side. Maybe it was a good thing that Sansa volunteered for this. Her needlework was flawless and she had surer hand than Maester Vyman who had been getting on in years.

They worked mostly in silence after that, Sansa doing the bulk of the work under Catelyn's watchful eyes. Clegane kept quiet, too, drinking and not complaining which Catelyn could appreciate. Then again, seeing the numerous scars he had, it was clear to her that he must have been used to having his wounds tended.

After her initial hesitation, Sansa worked quickly and precisely, doing her best to keep her touches light. Catelyn tried to ignore the way her daughter's hands sometimes lingered longer than they should but by the time they started to wrap a bandage around the wound, she knew she would have to say something.

"Go and get some sleep, Clegane," she ordered when he pulled his torn tunic back on. "You will have to stand guard in Lord Karstark's trial in the morning so make sure you rest well. I will see Sansa back to her room myself."

"Yes, Lady Stark," he replied before looking at Sansa. "Sleep well, little bird."

"You too," Sansa smiled at him, seemingly happy about something. When Clegane left, Catelyn started to tidy up the mess left behind, Sansa quickly lending a hand. They might have left the cleaning up for the maids but the menial tasks let Catelyn sort out her thoughts. Observing Sansa and her behaviour, there was only one conclusion to draw.

"You are in love with him."

Sansa froze, dropping the blood-soaked cloth she was putting away.

"What do you mean, mother?" she asked but avoided Catelyn's eyes who sighed and sat down heavily. She was tired and needed sleep but this thing needed to be addressed.

"Take a seat, Sansa."

The girl complied hesitantly, looking her age for the first time that evening. Catelyn made her voice as gentle as possible as she took one of Sansa's hands and stroke it in a calming manner.

"You are in love, or at least you think yourself in love, with Sandor Clegane, aren't you?"

Sansa was as still as a statue before finally giving a tiny nod. Catelyn sighed again but at least the secret was out.

"I will not lie, Sansa. The idea that you would find someone like Clegane appealing is very strange and I would think it impossible a year ago. I am not happy about it, either. You went to such lengths to point out your birth and status and you must know that his own make him stand far beneath you."

"I do not care," Sansa said vehemently and suddenly, meeting her mother's eyes for the first time. Catelyn didn't react beyond nodding once.

"I thought you did not. Sansa, I am not saying I do not understand. From what little you told me, your stay in the court was a terrible experience. To seek comfort and protection from the one person being kind to you is an understandable reaction. And when Clegane took you away from there and back to your family, he has become your true hero. He is a capable warrior who is devoted to you and if this was a song, you would have loved it, I am sure," Catelyn smiled which Sansa returned tentatively. "But this is a real life, my child. What seems like a true love to you is nothing but a combination of gratitude, admiration and trust."

"No," Sansa shook her head. "It is not. I do love him."

"What do you know of love, Sansa?" Catelyn asked pointedly. "No matter how grown up you look, you are only twelve. I thought myself in love when I was your age, too. You will come to realize, though, that these feelings pale in comparison to a true thing. I want you to find the same happiness I experienced with your father but it may not come for many years yet. What you feel now is a love from songs and such a thing never lasts beyond the last verse."

Sansa's look was hard and determined when she tilted her chin up in a gesture that Catelyn came to recognize as the Stark stubbornness.

"A love from songs is what I felt for Joffrey. I do know the difference, mother and I know that my feelings for Sandor are true. And I do not care for his birth or status. He is a good man and that is all that matters to me."

"Does he know about your feelings, then?" Catelyn dreaded the answer and when Sansa nodded, she had to force the next question out. "What did he say about it?"

Sansa looked uncertain all of a sudden, her eyes lowering.

"He said I was a fool who was making up her own stories about us and that I would do better to get over it quickly."

Catelyn couldn't help the relieved sigh that she let out. She wondered about Clegane's approach but maybe Sansa was right and he was a better man than Catelyn had thought him to be. And it might explain his gentle behaviour with Sansa. He obviously cared for her at some level. If he had refused her, he wouldn't have wanted to hurt her further by treating her harshly. 

Catelyn wondered what the best solution would be. If Sansa thought herself a heroine of her own love story, any attempt to forbid her contact with Clegane would only reinforce her misdirected feelings. Letting this infatuation run its course would be for the best. Besides, now that Catelyn knew about it, she could keep an eye on the whole situation. A talk with Clegane would also be necessary but that could wait until the morning.

"Sansa, as I said, I am not happy about all of this," she held up a hand to halt Sansa's protests. "But I know that it would be useless to try and separate you. He has been doing a good job of keeping you safe and since your feelings appear to be onesided, it would serve no real purpose. All I ask is that you execute more caution. No more late night walks. Even if he does not feel the same as you, there is no reason to tempt him."

Sansa looked at her strangely before nodding.

"I thought you would be more angry with me," she said quietly. Catelyn smiled.

"I, too, was in love with a wrong person when I was as young as you. These things rarely last."

"What if this does?" Sansa demanded. "I love him, I truly do. And it's not like the songs at all because I know the chance of us being together is low but I do not care about it. I just want him with me."

"If you still love him in four years, then we will talk again and try to find the best solution, I promise," Catelyn said. At this moment, Sansa reminded her of Lysa in her fierce defence of her love and Catelyn did not wish to repeat her father's mistakes. Trying to stifle this would prove more disastrous than useful. Clegane had been Sansa's refuge in King's Landing and she still clung to that comfort, turning it into a love in her mind. Letting Sansa get used to the idea that there were other people willing to provide the same comfort and safety for her would weaken her bond with Clegane over time until she realized herself that her fondness for her sworn shield was nothing but that - a fondness born from gratitude and necessity.

"You will not send him away from me?" Sansa asked timidly.

"Do I have a reason to?" Catelyn countered. "As long as all propriety is observed, I have no objections."

"I understand," Sansa told her and Catelyn hoped that she had not made a mistake.

She walked Sansa back to her room and then went back to hers. The sleep had long since left her mind and she sat by the balcony until the dawn, thinking on all that had passed last night. There was also Lord Karstark's trial to attend and she would have to talk to Clegane, too, to tell him about the agreement she had reached with Sansa. Clegane, for all his faults, seemed a reasonable man. The fact that he had recognized Sansa's feelings for what they were was also a point in his favour. She still didn't like him and most likely never would but she could give him some respect when he deserved it.

By the time the maid came by with her morning meal, Catelyn had been dressed for hours. She sat by her father's side, watching as he drew in every breath laboriously. It would not be long, she knew. Her father had done wrong by Lysa but paid for it dearly. Catelyn hoped that her own approach would prove better but hoping was all she could really do.

"Cat?" Brynden Tully stood by the door. "It is time."

She nodded as she stood up and leaned over to kiss her father's forehead. The past was over and done with. All she could do was try and make the future better.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, remember once again that Catelyn is drawing her own conclusions from what information is available to her. In her eyes, Sansa is merely having a crush on a man who has saved her repeatedly. Not the perfect situation but at least not an unusual one. Crushes come and go, especially when growing up.   
> This chapter was more or less to get me back into the swing of things, I hope to make more regular updates from now on.


	10. SANSA V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sansa contemplates her own role and efforts in her brother's court and just how much she has changed. An introspective chapter.

SANSA

The lack of sleep the previous night made Sansa look pale and drawn. She had kept tossing and turning in her bed, her mind coming back to her talk with her mother. She had been so careless that her lady mother had noticed her feelings for Sandor. Thankfully, she had misunderstood the extent of their relationship but the thought brought not only a relief but also a guilt to Sansa.

She had lied to her mother. Not outright but she still had kept some things to herself, leaving her mother to draw false conclusions from her words. It was true that Sandor had scoffed at her confession of love but he hadn't refused her entirely like her mother had seemed to think. Sansa tried to convince herself it was unnecessary unless she wanted her and Sandor separated but the idea of having to continue lying, to her own family no less, was like a sharp stabbing pain in her stomach.

Sansa rose from bed at dawn, the guilt still gnawing in her insides only to discover a bloodied sheet under her and she realized the pain was from her moon blood coming at last. It did little to soothe her conscience but it distracted her nonetheless.

After she cleaned herself, her mind turned to the trial she was to take part in very soon. She would have to speak about her encounter with Lord Karstark the previous night and how he confessed to his intentions. Killing of the captives was a distasteful crime and most of Robb's bannermen would agree but it was the other things he had said to her that they might find true. With Robb marrying a Westerner girl and her own fondness for her sworn shield, the accusations of the Starks consorting with the Lannisters would be dwelt upon more attentively. The only way out that Sansa saw was to draw the bannermen's attention to something else.

She chose a dark grey dress without an embroidery of any kind and combed her hair away from her face, leaving it to hang down her back freely without any ornaments. The dark colour of her dress accentuated her paleness and her bare head added to the effect of a frail and almost sickly-looking girl. It was a startling contrast to the way she had appeared at the feast and she was sure that everyone present would notice and they would wonder as to what had caused such a change in her.

It was her own small way of helping Robb fight his battles. He had no need of her in the field but the court and its intrigues were her battlefield of choice. It didn't matter that Riverrun was no King's Landing. The currents of power and people's efforts to shift them were the same. Contrary to what Joffrey and his mother had thought, Sansa was not stupid. During the months she had spent in the Red Keep she had watched and she had learned even if she had failed to realize just how much she had retained from her knowledge until recently. Her lady mother's example brought the little things into the forefront of her mind and she set about to use her own standing and power more consciously.

The feast had been merely an effort to prove her point but her uncle Brynden's words had showed her how she could use her own standing and appearance to further her own goals. The Queen had been right when she had told her that women had weapons of their own, even if Sansa would never go as far as Joffrey's mother had hinted she should. No, for now, she would merely emphasize her frailty, her moon blood pain unexpectedly helping her in that regard. When the lords of the North and the Riverlands would look at her, they wouldn't see a young woman who had gone for a walk in the middle of the night with her sworn shield - which would raise their suspicions. No, they would see the sister of their King, pale and tired from having to witness a man's act of rebellion against her brother. An act of rebellion that would have sullied her brother's honour and their own in turn.

Sansa blinked at her reflection in the looking glass. Her thoughts had become so cold. She hated feeling cold like this, not in her body but in her soul. She had been tainted and would most likely always be by what had happened to her after her father's death, by the things she had been forced to live through, the lies she had had to tell. If only she could bring the carefree Sansa of her childhood back.

A knock on her door roused her from her increasingly grimm thoughts and she bade the person on the other side to enter. It was Sandor, his manner still the same even if he held himself more carefully, most likely due to his injury. She smiled at him just as he frowned.

"What happened to you? You look terrible."

Sansa's smile got wider. His honesty, while at times harsh and unforgiving, was very welcome to her at the moment.

"I did not sleep well," she told him as she stood up and walked over to him, resting her head against his chest. His arms rose to embrace her loosely and she felt his warmth seep into her despite the armour he wore. This was what her mother wouldn't understand. In Sandor's eyes, she was always pure and good. In his arms, she didn't have to bother about pretending and lying to protect herself. The way he handled her, like the most precious thing he ever saw or held, she needed that feeling. The feeling that despite it all, she was not as tainted as she had feared.

"Bad dreams?" he asked and Sansa shook her head.

"There are just many things on my mind," she replied and stepped away from him. After the talk she had had with her lady mother, it wouldn't do to be caught embracing Sandor in her room. "How is your wound?"

"All better. All that sewing you do is good for something, after all," he teased her and Sansa swatted his arm lightly.

"Stop being ungrateful."

Instead of answering her, he took her arm and started leading her out of the room.

"Blackfish wants to speak with you before the trial," he explained and Sansa nodded, picking up her skirt slightly so she could walk faster.

"Do you know what he wants?"

Sandor shrugged and Sansa reminded herself that her uncle had been very sympathetic to her plight and he most likely just wanted to make sure she was alright. He waited for them in front of the Great Hall and Sandor left her with him, heading for the cells where Lord Karstark awaited the trial.

"You wished to see me, uncle?" Sansa asked, the serious expression on Brynden Tully's face scaring her a little. She had glimpsed her mother present in the Great Hall already and wondered if she had told him something.

"Come with me," he requested and Sansa followed him further down the corridor where they would not be in the way of the gathering bannermen. He stopped at what he must have thought a sufficient distance to discourage any eavesdropping and looked her up and down. "Are you up to this?"

"I beg your pardon?" Sansa asked, unsure what her uncle meant.

"I mean no offense, Sansa, but you look like you just rose from a sickbed."

"Oh," Sansa flushed. Her dressing up like this was effective then. "It is nothing," she assured him. "I just did not sleep well," she confessed. She left out telling him about her moon blood, as such things were never shared with men. Blackfish looked at her keenly, studying her.

"And you also dressed in such a drab colour," he commented. "You are going to play them like a fiddle, aren't you?"

"Uncle, I-" Sansa stammered, not expecting him to catch up as quickly on her ploy.

"Do you remember our talk at the feast, Sansa? You admitted that you knew about the effect you had on the other people and that you achieved it on purpose. I can guess as to your reasons for wanting to appear like this when testifying against Lord Rickard. There is more Stark in you than anyone would guess. Everyone focuses on your Tully looks, and yes, us Tullys can be crafty and manipulative when needed, but we are seldom as ruthless as the Starks."

Sansa shook her head.

"Starks are just and honourable," she told him.

"And they ruled the North for eight thousand years if the legends are to be believed. You need strong people to weather your winters and to hold on your land."

"I am not strong," she denied. "If I was, this," she gestured at her dress and hair, "would not be needed. I would have stopped Lord Karstark without bloodshed."

"You blame yourself even if you didn't wield the sword," Blackfish seemed to finally understand and Sansa nodded.

"I gave the order, knowing what would happen," she looked down. For all her fears about him the previous night, she had known Sandor would prevail. "I have seen Sandor fight before. I had him kill those men and I am about to destroy Lord Karstark by playing on our bannermen's sense of honour and justice. I will appear as the victim and they will gladly condemn him a thousand times over, to punish him for threatening me like that. They do not know I have been through worse things in King's Landing and a man mad with grief threatening my life just does not scare me any more," she hugged herself, her body going cold again. "I know all of this and yet I will not hesitate doing it. Does that make me a bad person, uncle?"

She was surprised when he pulled her into a fatherly embrace. It was not at all like Sandor's embraces but it gave her a small measure of warmth back.

"No, Sansa, it does not," he answered her. "It makes you a good sister. You are doing this for Robb, aren't you?"

Sansa nodded and her uncle pulled away to look in her eyes.

"Lord Rickard was in the wrong. The captives he threatened are but children and they are unarmed. It would have been murder if he had managed to follow through. Stopping him was the right thing and you mustn't blame yourself for doing what was necessary. Do you understand?"

"Thank you, uncle," she whispered and he offered her his arm to escort her back to the Great Hall just in time to see Sandor leading the bound Lord Karstark inside. Sansa's eyes met the old man's for a moment before he looked away from her, the harsh and unforgiving expression on his face never changing. Sansa forced herself to harden her heart against the pity she felt. This was for Robb. Her uncle was wrong. She was no Stark in this case. When it came to her family, Sansa was a Tully through and through.

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, a short one. I know. No promises as for when the next update will be. I should update Write Your Own Song as well ~~considering the trollish ending of that last chapter~~. But my cousin is getting married this weekend and I am something akin to the maid of honour (I have the most gorgeous dress and shoes *happy wiggle*) so my time will be somewhat limited. Still, I will try and make another update to one of my fics before the end of this week.


End file.
